I've come to burn your kingdom down
by Tarafina
Summary: When Steve is sent in to apprehend the extremely skilled assassin, Darcy Lewis, he finds more than he bargained for, and a very unexpected ally in the process.
1. Chapter 1

**fic**: I don't want your money, I don't want your crown (see, I've come to burn your kingdom down)  
><strong>category<strong>: thor/captain america/avengers  
><strong>genre<strong>: humor/action/romance  
><strong>chapter rating<strong>: r (violence)**  
>overall rating<strong>: nc-17 (eventual explicit sex)**  
>ship<strong>: darcy/steve  
><strong>summary<strong>: When Steve is sent in to apprehend the extremely skilled assassin, Darcy Lewis, he finds more than he bargained for, and a very unexpected ally in the process.

**[1]**

It would be so much easier if the world was black and white. If good was good and bad was bad and there was never any question of what either meant. But Steve knew different; he knew things didn't always fit into those labeled boxes.

On paper, Darcy Lewis was an enemy. She was efficient, a contract killer without a conscience, taking the highest bid and pulling the trigger without so much as flinching. The picture in her folder fit the laundry list of crimes she had to her name; cold blue eyes and a ruthless, red-lipped smile stared back at him.

But paper couldn't do her justice, and when he was finally faced with her in person, he had a dilemma on his hands…

Infiltrating her apartment wasn't particularly difficult. In a high-rise penthouse overlooking Prague, Miss Lewis had no visitors to speak of and no guests staying with her. For safety reasons, Steve had his strike team empty out the floor below Lewis' just to be sure. He had men posted outside the penthouse door, in both emergency stairwells, and on the main floor, keeping lookout. He also had Bucky and Hawkeye stationed on the buildings adjacent, keeping an eye on any movement from inside.

Steve entered alone and was hit, suddenly, by how eerily quiet it was. He moved silently through the apartment in the hopes that he would find her off guard and remove her without incident. Her file read that she was proficient with weapons, guns especially, having been a trained sniper, but she was deadly with a knife, her hand-to-hand combat was nothing to scoff at, and just to be absolutely sure that any injury to an enemy would be fatal, she laced all of her weapons with a homemade poison, the potency of which killed within seconds. But it was her ability to expertly manipulate people that often tripped other agents up. Many had been sent in and all had left empty-handed, if they left at all.

Steve had his gun at the ready as he moved further into the apartment, checking each room he passed; the lights out, providing him with coverage while simultaneously limiting his ability to see a threat. He passed the bathroom, the open door to a sprawling office, the entrance to the kitchen on one side and the open doors to a bedroom that spoke of luxury on the other. Finally, he saw light, a flickering fire in the living room, and he followed it.

Music was playing faintly; a tune he remembered from his time, in fact. A fire crackled, burning away in the grate, and a silver cat stood on the arm of a flawless white couch, stretched forward, tail swishing, and a purr for attention vibrating from its throat.

Absently, Darcy reached back to scratch the cat's ears, her eyes set out the window, head cocked slightly, a tendril of her dark hair skimming across her shoulder.

"I count three, but I'd bet money there's only two snipers and one dummy post set up for distraction…" She turned her head to see him, an eyebrow raised. "These windows are reinforced; they can shoot all they want, but nothing'll getting through."

"We can always test that," Steve answered, taking a step forward, hand flexing on his gun. "This would be easier if you cooperated, Miss Lewis.

"For you, maybe."

"I can guarantee no harm will come to you while you're in my care."

She gave him a look over, passing a critical eye across him, from the broad length of his shoulders, down his arms and chest, carefully covered in his dark blue tactical suit, down his legs, braced apart, ready for attack. Humming, she scooped up her cat, holding it to her chest for a moment as she scrubbed her fingers between its ears and down its neck.

Her eyes never let him as she bent forward to place her cat on the floor. His own gaze followed her, critiquing in a way wholly different than hers had been. The picture they had of her was from the neck up; he wasn't expecting her body to be quite so… distracting. She was curvy, in the way pin-up girls were from his time, and her dress was doing everything to bring that to attention. His mouth went dry and his brow furrowed. Giving his head a faint shake, he focused on her eyes, but the curl of her lips told him she knew exactly how much she was affecting him.

"By order of SHIELD, I'll be escorting you back to American soil for sentencing regarding your crimes—"

"That's a fancy way of saying 'SHIELD does not approve of you shooting people we didn't want shot, yet. As opposed to those other people we shoot off the record for reasons the public are not allowed to know about. Because you're getting paid better than us, and happen to be better at your job, we need you to stop. And by stop, we mean either rot in a jail cell the rest of your life or mysteriously disappear…'" She raised an eyebrow then. "Mystery disappearance is really 'die in some suspicious way,' if you didn't catch that one."

"You weren't being too subtle, so I didn't have much trouble keeping up," he returned.

Her mouth twitched. "You're feistier than the last one they sent… Although, I'm a little offended they keep sending men. When do you think I'll warrant a visit from Black Widow?" She cocked her head curiously. "Who does a girl have to kill around here to get the royal treatment, huh?"

He frowned at her. "Miss Lewis—"

"Do we really need to be formal here? I mean, you've broken into my home for the sole purpose of arresting me for crimes some paper pusher said I committed."

"Are you disputing the charges laid against you?" he asked a little incredulously.

She offered him a saucy smirk. "If I am, do we get to pick this up next week after you and the Scooby Gang have looked into it?"

His lips pursed. "I'd still have to take you in."

"Well, see, that's unfortunate…" She put a hand to her hip, grinning when his fingers twitched abruptly toward the trigger on his gun. "Easy, Tiger. I'm unarmed…" She started walking toward him, slowly, letting her hips sway enticingly. "You wouldn't hurt an unarmed, possibly innocent woman, would you?"

"That would depend on whether or not I trusted her on either account."

"Are you calling me a liar?" She tsked at him, wagging a finger. "That's not a good foot to start off on with a woman, Captain Rogers… You might want to try a different approach. I'd suggest wining and dining me, but… I'm on a time limit here." Her nose wrinkled with faux-disappointment. "Maybe in another life, another time, when I was less me and you were less of a sheepdog."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "So now I follow the crowd, huh?"

"If by 'crowd' you mean the corrupt institution that is SHIELD, then yes." She paused just short of him and raised her chin to meet his eyes, somehow managing to make him feel like she was actually looking down at him. The firelight flickered over her features and, not for the first time, he resented how beautiful she was. "Have you ever stopped to ask yourself 'why?'"

He frowned at her. "Why what?"

"Why you haven't heard anything from your strike team, stationed on the floor below, outside my door, across the street… Not one little peep." She stared searchingly into his eyes. "Why you had a pre-made mission plan given to you, where you were the only one sent in to engage a highly trained assassin… Why you were hand-picked for this job, where so many had failed… Why I let you get this far, and, most especially, why I dressed so spectacularly for the occasion." She gave him a little spin, stopping with her back to him as she grinned over her shoulder. "It's a nice little number, isn't it? I considered going with the traditional red, white, and blue, but I felt like that was a little more patriotic than I was willing to get."

Steve cast his gaze away from her and across the street; he searched for the familiar glint of Clint's or Bucky's guns, for a signal of some kind to let him know they were okay, but the only one that was left was the fake-out a few floors down from their positions.

"Don't worry. They haven't been hurt. Knocked out by now, definitely. It's a quick-acting toxin; I made it myself. It'll even put Barnes on his ass for a while."

He whipped his head back around to snarl at her, panic and worry building up inside him, but before he could get a word out, she raised a finger and pressed it to her lips. "Shhh… I'm in the middle of my very important villain speech…" She turned, walking toward a drink cart and poured herself a glass of bourbon. "Thirsty?" she asked, jiggling a second glass for him.

He simply stared at her, taking in every agile movement; the flex of her calves, the stretch of her fingers, the line of her back, every graceful, feline-like movement of her body.

"Have you figured it out yet, Captain?" she wondered, placing the empty glass back on the cart while she raised the other for a sip.

He watched her as she walked back toward him, licking his lips as she licked hers. "That this was a set-up? Like I said, you need to work on your subtlety."

She grinned, all bright, white teeth. "Maybe I enjoy a little dramatic flair…" She rolled a hand in the air. "And you're right, kind of. It was a set up. SHIELD, or, well, should I say HYDRA…? Either way, they decided that you were a liability. Hence, they called me in. A few higher ups pulled some strings, made sure you would be put on 'retrieve deadly assassin' duty, and then Rumlow and his little minions knocked out Barton and Barnes while I was expected to take you out."

"And yet here I am, listening to you lay out your dastardly plan…" He raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing there's another piece to the puzzle."

"I always pegged you for a smart one…" She walked a little closer, until her front brushed his, and his teeth clenched as he dropped his chin to look at her. "It must really bother you… I'm so close and you could so easily just reach up…" Her own hand lifted, fingers teasing over her neck. "Snap me in half and, pfft, game over… Only you can't, because you're worried your friends might get hurt if you do…" She stared up at him searchingly. "That's the catch, isn't it? You get too close, people become risks. You don't get close enough, you have nobody you can trust and rely on… The scales, they need balance."

"And who do you trust?" he wondered, his eyes dropping to sinful red lips as they turned up in a smile.

"'Will you step in to my parlor?' said the spider to the fly…"

His brow furrowed.

"Do you know what's important when you take jobs? You always know who it's going to affect. With a career like mine, I have to look past the listed casualty to who else might be hurt." She rolled her eyes. "Emotionally more than physically… So when I got your file, it was obvious. Kill you, have Earth's mightiest heroes chase me down and avenge you. It wouldn't be an issue, usually. See, when you get into this business, you have to expect you'll make enemies and… Well, I've always been very good at outmaneuvering my enemies."

"I sense a 'but' coming…"

"But…" She grinned at him. "Sometimes the enemy of your enemy is your friend."

"I take it you're not a fan of HYDRA then."

She reached up, smoothing a hand down the front of his suit, dragging one sharp, black nail down him. "Getting smarter and smarter the longer we talk…"

"So, what? You took the job but you're not going to go through with it…?" He stared down at her, unconvinced. "You want me to just trust you?"

"Of course not. What do you take me for?" She took a step back and turned, knocking back the last of her drink before she dropped the glass on the cart. "Trust is earned. So here's what I'm offering… I'll get you out of here before Rumlow and his lackeys figure out what's happening. I'll help you get Barnes and Barton free. And then I'll get you and yours somewhere safe, where you can lay low, play Parcheesi, and bring your little band of misfit toys together to prepare for one big hurrah."

"And where will you be while we're… preparing?"

Darcy smirked at him. "Why, Captain, my Captain, was that concern I heard in your voice? Don't you worry your pretty little head about me… After you and the team are safe and sound, I can go back to doing what I do best; which, hopefully, will help even out the field a bit."

Steve frowned, his brow furrowed tightly. "You're going to start sniping HYDRA officials, is that what you're telling me?"

"I'm going to do my job," she said, her voice taking on a much more serious note. "Pay close attention, because I'll only say this once… When I was given the file on you, it came down from Alexander Pierce. Sound familiar? Because he should. He's the head of the World Security Council and a leader of SHIELD. When I told him killing national treasures wasn't up my alley, he tried to sell me the American dream in a bottle. 'You would be doing your country a great service, Miss Lewis. The world needs you. Your unique skill will help to create a whole new world.'" She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "My grandfather died in a concentration camp, starving and struggling and stripped of his dignity. In the eyes of HYDRA, only the strong survive; well, they don't know strong. I died on a pyre of good intentions when I was twenty-one, I raised myself up out of those ashes and I swore I would never let anybody tear me down again."

"So you thought you'd just kill anybody who got in your way?"

"You're missing the point." She scoffed at him. "You hold onto your ideals as tightly as you can, but you know better than anyone that the corrupt will only take down this world, piece by piece, until there is nothing good left in it. When people start talking about who is superior, that's when shit gets real. Now if you're not willing to stand and fight, fine. I'll get your sorry ass out of here and you can run off into the sunset with your friends. Because God knows we'll still need a figurehead to step out in front of this and grin for the cameras when SHIELD is dismantled. But I didn't risk my life just to meet a legend and shake his hand. I won't let them have this world. They've taken enough. Now what will it be, Captain? Give me liberty or give me death."

He stared at her a long moment, an argument building up inside him. Trust and mistrust warred in his gut. All he really knew about her was in a file given to him by someone who, quite possibly, had set him up to die. Meaning she might not be anything like he was expecting. The woman in the picture was not who stood in front of him. That woman was sharp angles and empty, soulless eyes. This woman before him was fire and passion and gutsy snark. Under different circumstances…

But these were the circumstances they were facing. Trust her, save him, save Bucky and Clint, and possibly even the world.

"I'll accept your help getting me out of here, and with Barton and Bucky."

Her lips ticked up. "I sense a 'but' coming…" she mocked.

"But you don't just disappear and run your own mission after… You have ties to Natasha, or you respect her enough, at least, not to have killed me. That's what you were implying, wasn't it?"

She stared at him a moment, lips pressed in a thin, stubborn line, and then she nodded.

"So come with us… If you know who these HYDRA leaders are, you can help us. And if you're still certain you want to take them out your way, then you'll at least have back-up."

Darcy's eyes narrowed then. "Are you trying to recruit me right now?"

He frowned. "I'm telling you that if what you're saying is true, if your intentions here are honest, then we need you, and I think we can help each other…"

Her gaze met his and held on for a long, tense moment. "I'll think about it," she said simply. "I'm not in the habit of agreeing to play with heroes for any extended period of time. Not, at least, when it doesn't involve a bed…" She grinned then. "Which, if we had more time, I might be offering."

"And if things were different, I might even take you up on that offer. But, as it is, I have two teammates that need help and we're standing in a heavily guarded building. So maybe we could focus on the situation at hand first."

Amused by him, and not the least bit concerned, Darcy said, "I'm a little offended that you think so little of me that I wouldn't have a back-up plan… I've been preparing for this all week."

"And here I thought you spent all that time picking out the right dress."

She laughed lowly and looked back at him, her eyes full of mischief. "Admit it, you like the dress."

Despite himself, he took her in again. Maybe it was the faint possibility that she might not be as much of an enemy as he'd first thought, or maybe it was just the high stakes mission, but he'd never been more attracted to a woman than in that moment.

"Maybe when I've proven that loyalty, you and I could renegotiate things," she said, raising an eyebrow as she looked him over. "After all, wouldn't want to waste a good adrenaline rush."

"Do you flirt with everyone you're hired to kill?" he wondered.

"Most of the people I'm hired to kill never get the chance to meet me…" She licked her lips, good and slow. "I suppose that makes you a rare breed."

"I suppose it does."

They stared at each other, the tension thick and overwhelming, but then she glanced away. "We should get moving. If it takes much longer, Rumlow will come looking. He's an asshole, but he knows what he's doing."

"I'm still curious how you plan to get us out of here."

Darcy crossed the room then and reached for the latch on the window, swinging it open and wide before she reached up and gripped a zipwire leading down from just above. "We'll take this beauty to the building across from us. From there, we'll climb up to the floors Barnes and Barton were left on, retrieve them, and go downstairs to the truck I have waiting in the parking garage. Meanwhile, Rumlow and his goons will finally get tired of waiting for me to finish the job. While they're busy figuring out what went wrong, I'll return you to your team. I have a jet waiting; the private and secret variety. From there, it's a free for all."

"That easy?" He raised an eyebrow.

Darcy grinned. "Of course not. That's the 'if everything somehow, magically goes exactly right' version. But don't worry, I have at least three back-up plans."

"Three?" he snorted. "Is that all?"

"I had a fourth but since we didn't have wildly inappropriate sex in front of the fire on a bear skin rug, it's already kind of shot to hell."

An unexpected laugh escaped from him as he shook his head.

Darcy crawled up onto the window sill then, kicking her heels off behind her, and took out a hand grip to attach to the wire. "Ready for an adventure, Captain?"

"Steve," he corrected. "I think, given the circumstances, we can work with first names."

"Steve, then." She tugged her dress down her legs a little and grinned at him. "Are you ready?"

He stared at her searchingly and considered the complicated situation he was in. An assassin hired to kill him was now offering to save his life and take down not just HYDRA but a corrupt SHIELD… She had risked her life and everything she knew to do the right thing, despite having turned her back on 'good intentions' years ago. But here she was, willing to risk her life for his, and he thought trust might just come easier than expected.

"I am," he told her, grabbing up the second hand-grip.

"Good. Because we've got a lot of hard work ahead of us… And then we've got a much needed break to look forward to. Which I'm hoping will be just as hard." With a wink, she leapt from the window, swinging from the hand grip without a glimpse of fear.

Steve sighed, shook his head, and followed after her, wondering all the while just what the hell he was getting himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

**fic**: I don't want your money, I don't want your crown (see, I've come to burn your kingdom down)  
><strong>category<strong>: thor/captain america/avengers  
><strong>genre<strong>: humor/action/romance  
><strong>chapter rating<strong>: r (violence)**  
>overall rating<strong>: nc-17 (eventual explicit sex)**  
>ship<strong>: darcy/steve  
><strong>summary<strong>: When Steve is sent in to apprehend the extremely skilled assassin, Darcy Lewis, he finds more than he bargained for, and a very unexpected ally in the process.

**[2]**

"What is the plan here?" Steve wondered as he pulled his shield from his back and followed her through the dark, empty office they'd entered via the window.

"Your guys are three floors up," Darcy told him, thrusting her chin forward. "There'll be at least two agents guarding Barton and Barnes. I doubt they're anybody you know, but they'll probably be wearing SHIELD gear, just a head's up. We take them out, retrieve your friends, take the elevator down to the ground floor, where I have a ride waiting for us. From there, we'll go to a private airstrip. Easy-peasy, Cap." She clapped a hand against his chest and then walked toward the door.

He gripped her forearm and squeezed to get her to stop.

She looked down at his hand and raised an eyebrow. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to tempt assassins?"

He frowned and loosened his grip. "Currently, we have the upper-hand. Surprise works in our favor, but I need a game plan here. I can't just walk out into enemy fire."

"Technically, it'd still be friendly fire, wouldn't it?" Her brow furrowed thoughtfully and then shrugged. "Semantics, I guess. Look, don't worry your pretty little head so much. Think of this as a rescue mission. You're the dude in distress and I'm the hero come to save you, all right?"

"Darcy—"

"I get that you're a team player, but I'm not. So this little pow-wow is really only wasting my time." She pulled her arm from his grip and turned to the door, smoothing her hands down her dress. "Watch and learn."

Walking out the door with confidence, Darcy made her way to the elevator at the end of the hallway, never pausing or slowing. Steve walked at her back, his gun out and his shield braced on his arm as his eyes darted and he kept his ears open, searching for any sign of an enemy. Darcy hit the button for the elevator and turned to look back at him, rolling her eyes at his very obvious soldier-pose. "Relax, Big Guy. They're not expecting much trouble on this side. They've already taken out the only two guys here that would give them a problem. Everybody else is just waiting for me to give the signal that you've been taken care of."

"And what's the signal?"

"Oh, I just pop my head out the door and wave them in. Rumlow and his boy's enter, clean up the scene, sweep you under the carpet. It's sad, actually, how lackluster it all is." She shrugged and stepped onto the elevator as the doors opened.

Steve joined her, eyeing her curiously, his lips set in a frown. "So that's it? They bring you someone to kill and you just… take the shot?"

"I told you, you're different. My jobs are usually at a distance; a nice, long scope making it feel more personal than it really is. But there have been a few that needed a more hands-on approach."

"The poisoned knives?"

"Is that judgement I'm hearing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Just feels wrong, is all. You should give your opponent a fighting chance. They deserve that, don't they?"

Darcy snorted. "This, coming from a suped up soldier? You think most people stand a chance against you? Call it what you want, sweetheart, but anybody who gets in the ring with you has no real chance of walking away and we both know it. They might live, but that's because you chose to let them live." She looked up at him as she reached down and pulled the skirt of her dress up her thighs. "Remember that."

He watched her hands as she pulled two long, silver needles from a strap around her thigh. As the doors opened, she hardly paused before she stepped forward, smirked for the two men who looked up, saw her, and raised their guns. She threw the needles with expert precision; one went directly through the center of an agent's neck while the other hit the second agent in the hand, pinning it to his chest before he could reach for the radio on his shoulder, his fingers poised to press the button and call it in to Rumlow.

Steve watched as both men stared back at her in shock, gave a violent shake, and then collapsed to the floor, blood bubbling on their lips.

She ran forward then, anticipating the next attack, and he watched as a third guard exited the door just down from where the other two agents lay dead. Darcy leapt over the fallen bodies and twisted in mid-air, kicking her leg out and landing a hard blow to the remaining agent's face. He slammed into the doorjamb and stumbled forward, blood dribbling from his mouth. He reached for the gun on his hip, but didn't stand a chance as she turned to face him. Bashing an elbow into his cheek, she reached for his gun with him and turned it toward his leg, squeezing off two shots. As he let out an anguished cry, she wrapped her arm around his neck and, with her hand tucked under his chin, gave his head a violent twist, snapping his neck. While he collapsed to the floor, she kept hold of his gun, and casually checked the magazine to see what was left.

Turning, she raised an eyebrow at Steve, who stood back, gun half-raised. "You gonna help me move these two? I have impressive upper-body strength, but we're short on time."

He stepped forward, shaking off his momentary shock. He'd seen Natasha move like that, with frightening efficiency, and he'd been impressed, if a little concerned with how careless she was about the bodies she left in her wake. But he'd never been attracted to Natasha, not like that. He considered her a friend, a teammate, and he respected her for both her work as an Avenger and her work within SHIELD, as a fellow agent, but respect had never gone beyond that. He liked strong women; Peggy was a shining example of that. But he'd always thought a sense of honor came with that, and he wasn't sure where Darcy Lewis' was. Yet, still, he felt his gut tighten with undeniable desire as he'd watched her attack and conquer.

He shook the thought off, focusing on the situation, and joined her in the office, where he found both Clint and Bucky sprawled out on the floor, completely unconscious, stripped of any weapons and tied up just to be sure.

"Why didn't they kill them, too?" Steve wondered as he reached down to grab Bucky up, hauling him over his shoulders. It was no small task; Bucky wasn't exactly light, but he managed.

Darcy hauled Clint out of the room with her hands stuck under his armpits and grunted to him, "Because. They were still useful."

"What makes you so sure they wouldn't put two and two together?"

"Maybe they would have, eventually. But for the moment, they would've thought I was tipped off and got the drop on you and Rumlow would back it up. I'd put money on it that the three guards I took out weren't SHIELD agents. They were just wearing SHIELD gear so Barnes and Barton would trust them. Rumlow would prove they weren't theirs and had to be on my payroll. These two would call your little team to arms and while they were tracking down me, HYDRA and SHIELD could continue on, business as usual, building their little world dominating helicarriers." She puffed out an irritated breath as she dropped Barton in the elevator, slumped against the wall.

Steve put Bucky down beside him and then raised an eyebrow at her as she hit the button for the parking garage. "Helicarriers?"

"So I might've snooped a little while they were recruiting me to…" She closed one eye and mimicked shooting him with a finger-gun. "Project Insight. Let's see if I can remember what the notes said… Hm… Three next-generation helicarriers, uh, synced to a network of targeting satellites, continuous suborbital flight, yadda yadda yadda, long-range precision guns that can kill a thousand hostiles a minute. You get the drift. Basically, they'll kill anybody who so much as thinks of stepping out of line."

She watched the numbers climb down while Steve rocked back on his heels, his head swimming.

Blowing out a breath, he shook his head. "I thought the punishment usually came after the crime."

Darcy turned to look at him over her shoulder. "Paranoia does things to people. They start planning ahead for what they assume is the inevitable. It doesn't matter how far away that 'inevitable' is, they just know that they'll be ready for it. The problem is, one person's perfect world isn't everybody's. And if you start killing off people for what they _might _do, then the line between right and wrong is more than a little blurry." She eyed him curiously. "You went to war; you never had to do things for what the higher ups called the 'greater good'?"

His jaw ticked. "We did things. Some of which made it hard to sleep at night. But we did it so people would be free… If what you're saying is true, then that's not what I fought for."

Darcy stared at him searchingly, and seemed to have found what she looked for. She nodded. "So let it be something you fight against." The doors dinged before they opened and she turned.

There was a woman standing not far from them, early to mid-twenties, thick brown hair and olive skin; she had an assault rifle in hand.

"Darcy," Steve stressed, reaching for his gun.

"Relax. She's with me." Stepping off the elevator, Darcy walked toward the woman with a grin, and, without pausing, began signing to her, her hand gestures almost too fast for Steve to keep up.

Darcy: [Thank you for coming. I know how you feel about SHIELD.]

The Girl: [Of course. You needed me. Are those the men you told me about?]

Darcy: [Yes. Can you bring the truck around?]

The Girl: [Sure. Casualties?]

Darcy: [Three, so far.]

The Girl: [Were you hurt?] She looked Darcy over worriedly, stretching a hand toward her shoulder and squeezing.

Darcy shook her head, covering the girl's hand to pat it comfortingly. [I'm fine. I promise. Did you get her?]

The Girl grinned. [She is safe. Angry. But safe.]

Darcy nodded. [Thank you.]

The Girl motioned behind her then, glanced briefly at Steve, and walked off toward a waiting SUV.

Darcy returned to the elevator to help him drag Clint and Bucky out.

"Who is she?" Steve asked shortly.

"She's a friend."

He frowned at her. "Weren't you the one telling me that friends were liabilities not twenty minutes ago?"

"Stasiya is different."

He cast an eye back toward the other woman only to find the SUV backing up in their direction. The back trunk opened and Stasiya joined them, taking up Barton's feet to help Darcy load him into the SUV. She looked even younger up close, Steve thought. Young and far too innocent to be spending her time with a trained assassin. But, as he'd recently been reminded, looks could be deceiving.

Once Bucky and Clint were loaded inside, Darcy closed the back door. "All right, everybody in." She waved them toward the doors and Steve motioned to the back seat, letting her pass him.

She grinned at him as she went. "Afraid I might try to strangle you from behind?"

"Anybody with brains would be."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Yanking the door open, Darcy climbed into the front passenger seat and drummed her hands on the dashboard. "All right, so far, so good." She waved to get her friend's attention and then signed along with speaking, "Stasiya, my sweet, take us to the air strip."

Stasiya nodded at her sharply, glanced quickly at Steve as he put his seatbelt on, and then pulled the SUV forward.

The abrupt lurch sent a box on the seat beside him forward a few inches and Steve heard an angry mewl from inside. Eyeing the box curiously, he asked, "Is that your cat?"

Darcy turned her head, her eyes landing on the carrier beside him. "Yeah."

He stared at her, brows hiked in a silent demand for explanation.

Sighing, she said, "When I picked her up earlier, when you walked in, I set the alarm off in her collar to let Stasiya know things were a go. There's an old dumbwaiter in my kitchen. The building used to be a hotel sixty or so years ago. Anyway, I had it upgraded, in case I ever needed a quick get-away. It's small, but sturdy. Stasiya rode it up to my apartment, grabbed my cat, and here we are."

Steve stared at her. "You don't think that was risky?"

"Hey, that cat's been with me for seven years. I wasn't leaving her behind, superheroes or not."

"Not the cat. Sending Stasiya up to get it," he explained, shaking his head. "What if she'd been caught?'

"She knew the risks. And she's not as fragile as you seem to think she is. I trained her myself. She has a mean right hook. I wouldn't recommend getting in the way of it."

"And what would've happened if they caught her and she ratted us out? Then your whole plan would've been shot to hell…" He shook his head. "For a master assassin, your tactical skills are questionable."

Darcy's eyes narrowed. "She wouldn't have been caught. We had plenty of time and not Rumlow or anybody in the building knew about the dumbwaiter. But, on the off chance you were right, there is no way that Stasiya would have ratted us out. And I resent the implication for her."

Steve frowned. "Just because she can't speak doesn't mean Rumlow wouldn't have found a way to get her to tell him where we were or what we had planned…"

Darcy shook her head. "Rumlow took a crack at her three years ago, when SHIELD wanted to know where I was but couldn't catch me with any of their fancy satellites. They found Stasiya instead, kept her locked up for three weeks, tried every tactic they could think of. And you know what she did?" Darcy cocked her head, an eyebrow raised. "She knocked Rumlow on his ass, stole his knife from him, and cut her own tongue out… Now, sure, it was mostly for show since, like you said, she doesn't speak. But that didn't make it any less painful, and you can bet your ass that it was a very clear message of who her loyalty belonged to. I know you're having trust issues because your people just tried to have you killed, but do us both a favor… Don't ever question my people. If tonight's proved anything, it's that my taste in teammates is better than yours." With that, she turned back around in her seat and looked ahead, her shoulders tensed and her jaw set.

Steve stared at her profile a long moment and then looked toward Stasiya, considering her a long moment. She didn't look like the type, or maybe Darcy didn't seem the type someone would be loyal enough to cut their own tongue out for. But, here they were, and he found himself believing exactly that.

With a sigh, he sat back in his seat, and rubbed a hand down his face.

Darcy was right about one thing; he was coming up wanting when it came to people he could trust, the two men passed out behind him not included.

He still wasn't completely sure he could trust Darcy, but for now, that was exactly what he would have to do.


	3. Chapter 3

**fic**: I don't want your money, I don't want your crown (see, I've come to burn your kingdom down)  
><strong>category<strong>: thor/captain america/avengers  
><strong>genre<strong>: humor/action/romance  
><strong>chapter rating<strong>: r (violence)**  
>overall rating<strong>: nc-17 (eventual explicit sex)**  
>ship<strong>: darcy/steve  
><strong>summary<strong>: When Steve is sent in to apprehend the extremely skilled assassin, Darcy Lewis, he finds more than he bargained for, and a very unexpected ally in the process.

**[3]**

As expected, a jet was waiting on the tarmac, lights blinking, a few workers moving around, waiting on their arrival. The stairs leading into the jet were down and the windows were lit up.

Steve stared curiously, his brow furrowed. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen over-the-top, state-of-the-art aircrafts before, but then it had been paid for by Stark's business or government funds. It was a little different to look at a jet and know that it had been paid for in blood. He frowned then, wondering if there really was a difference. The government might pay for SHIELD to operate, but their operations were anything but casualty-less. Many had died, friend and foe alike, and the government continued to pay them for exactly that. Death. Hopefully the opponent's, but they were willing to risk their own to get it.

"She's a beaut, isn't she?" Darcy asked, looking back at him with a half-smile. "When I was a kid, I was terrified of flying, heights, anything like that… Things change."

Stasiya pulled the SUV to a stop and pushed her door open, hopping out and circling around to the back, motioning to a few of the ground crew.

While Darcy was undoing her seatbelt, Steve reached for her shoulder. "I understand why you trust Stasiya, or I think I do, but what about everyone else here… Did they all cut their tongues out too?"

She snorted at him. "No. Money buys silence."

"And what if someone has more money?"

She turned back to him, staring at him seriously. "Then they won't get much. Nobody knows where I'm going until I'm on that jet. Meaning all of these people milling around have no idea who I am or where I'm going. We get a new pilot and a new ground crew every time I need to go anywhere. By the time they ask my old pilot where I was headed, I could be anywhere for any reason. Every guy on the ground right now was called in maybe an hour ago; they walk away with their pockets a little fuller and having no idea who it was they just helped leave. And really, they don't care. They're here for the money and that's all that matters. I can appreciate that." Pushing her door open, she slipped out and circled around.

Waving at a few of the workers, she told them in Czech that she needed her friends brought inside, explaining that they had too much to drink and would sleep it off on the flight. While the men looked a little skeptical about her reasoning, they knew better than to ask questions, and instead waved over two other workers to help them load Bucky and Clint onto the jet.

Steve watched them go and cast his eyes around curiously before he landed on Darcy and Stasiya, standing not far away.

Stasiya was shaking her head, her lips pursed firmly. She began signing to Darcy, her movements agitated. [I want to come. Take me with you.]

Darcy sighed, handing the cat carrier off to another worker before she returned her attention to Stasiya. [This is dangerous. This isn't like before. It's not training. People will die. They will be killed. Are you sure you want to be a part of that?]

Stasiya chewed her lip and then stared up at Darcy and signed a little slower. [You are putting yourself in danger. You should not trust that soldier. You do not know him.]

[You're right. I don't. But I know enough.] She smiled then and reached up to cup Stasiya's face affectionately, she brought her in close, their foreheads meeting, and lingered a moment before leaning back and signing to her once more. [I will be careful. I promise you. If you want to come with me, I will not stop you. But be sure, little one. This is no game. It is war.]

Stasiya lifted her chin stubbornly. [I am prepared. Trust me. Please.]

Darcy shook her head minutely, looking conflicted, but finally smiled, nodding. [It will be good to have a familiar face with me.]

Stasiya lit up then and placed her hands on Darcy's shoulders, nodding at her as she grinned.

Darcy motioned a thumb behind her to the jet. [Go on. Get comfortable. Have something to eat.]

[I will!] Stasiya hurried toward the stairs then and climbed them two at a time.

Steve watched her go for a long moment, his brow furrowed, and then returned his attention to Darcy, only to find her staring at him.

She walked toward him, her eyes narrowed. [Do you eavesdrop on everyone's conversations?] she signed at him.

He considered pretending he didn't know what she was saying, but decided against it. "Can you blame me?" he wondered. "I'm signing on with the woman who was _supposed _to kill me and trusting the fate of my friends in her hands. I _should _be suspicious."

"You'd be stupid not to be. And we already worked out that stupid is one thing you're not…" She frowned at him. "But Stasiya is limited in her ways to interact with people. So maybe have some respect and keep your all-knowing eyes to yourself, all right?"

Darcy turned to leave then and he frowned, reaching for her. "Darcy, wait…"

She pulled her arm free of his grip and turned to face him, chin raised stubbornly. "You do that a lot. I wouldn't suggest it. The last person who thought he could manhandle me no longer has _hands_… Remember that." With that, she marched off to the jet and climbed the stairs.

Blowing out an irritated breath, Steve followed after her, taking no time to wonder how he might look, still dressed in his tactical gear and wearing his shield on his back. But the ground workers said nothing, asking no questions, and simply waited for him to join the others on the jet before returning to their duties.

He could hear Darcy, her voice strained, as she talked to the pilot in the cockpit, and turned right to walk past the kitchenette and into the main hull, where comfortable looking seats lined either side, oversized for comfort. There were three different television screens set up, placed in various vantage points. Four chairs were separated, two on either side, facing each other, with cup holders set in the marble shelving that lined the walls. A table was brought out from one of the shelves, folded out from the inside, dressed with a vase of flowers, and wearing a plate of still steaming food. He assumed it was where Stasiya was sitting and continued further down. There was a three-seater couch with overstuffed cushions set against the wall, the fabric a chocolate brown that matched each of the chairs, and the pillows a light blue. Across from the couch were two more chairs, angled slightly, seating Bucky and Clint respectively. He could see a sign on the arched door further down that signaled a bathroom through the hallway, along with emergency supplies.

Stasiya walked through the curtain leading to the bathroom then, rubbing her hands with hand sanitizer, if the smell was anything to go by.

She looked up at him, her eyes full of wariness, and moved further into the jet to retake her seat where her food was waiting for her.

The door and stairs were drawn up then and Steve felt the vibrations of the jet readying to take off.

Darcy reappeared, making her way back toward them. She paused by Stasiya, her irritation of earlier wiped from her face. [Good?] she signed.

Stasiya nodded, filling her mouth with a bite, and Darcy patted her shoulder as she passed, making her way to the couch Steve found himself standing awkwardly beside.

"It's a nine hour flight, Cap. You might want to get comfortable," she told him, walking right by him and toward the curtain leading into the bathroom.

He watched her go, brow furrowed, but stepped back, taking a seat on the couch, close enough to Bucky and Clint to keep an eye on them and with his back comfortably against the wall, leaving him an open sight to both Stasiya and Darcy. He hadn't seen Stasiya in action like he had Darcy, but Darcy had mentioned that she'd trained the girl. She didn't look quite as deadly as Darcy did, not without her assault rifle, but it took a special kind of person to cut her own tongue out. He found himself wondering about the story behind that; what few facts he'd been given were startling, yes, but he couldn't help but wonder what came after. Did she escape? Did SHIELD realize there was no point in keeping her and release her? Unlikely. Did Darcy rescue her somehow? And, more than that, what could Darcy have done to earn that kind of loyalty? What made Stasiya think it was worth it to slice her own tongue out?

While he was pondering these things, he almost missed Darcy's return.

The dress of earlier was gone, replaced instead with something more comfortable. It was a startling sight. His eyes widened slightly as he tracked her across the jet, disappearing out of sight for a moment before she returned with a mug of, what smelled like, coffee in hand. She took a seat in the corner of the couch, her legs pulled up with her, and hugged her mug between both hands, raising it up so she could breathe in the scent, her expression softening with appreciation.

Steve felt distinctly off-kilter. The dress, despite covering much less than her current clothes, was a shield in some way. It made her look like the femme fatale he'd been warned she was. Brimming with sexuality, wielding it like a weapon, inviting him close so she could devour him. But this, fresh face scrubbed of make-up and donning square glasses, she was wearing a loose green t-shirt with a long, grey cardigan draped over it, black leggings, and brown slippers. It wasn't unflattering, but it was hardly hugging the curves she'd been using to distract him before. It made her look more… _human_. And, in its own way, it was even more distracting than the dress and heels of before.

She turned to look at him, resting her coffee on her knee, and said, "I would've brought you one, but… _poison_, right?" She shrugged, rubbing her thumb down the handle of her mug.

He nodded, his eyes following her finger for a moment, where her long nails were still intact, as if to remind him that all was not quite as it seemed. She was still a vicious killer who wouldn't hesitate to put down anyone who got in her way. Or… well, _almost _anyone. He looked past her shoulder toward Stasiya and paused, considering how rude it was to talk about someone when they were there but couldn't hear them. He frowned, giving it some thought.

"Spit it out," Darcy said, raising an eyebrow when he looked up at her, mildly surprised.

He shouldn't be. Darcy didn't waste time with pleasantries or circling around a problem. She tackled it head on and dealt with the consequences. He rather liked that. In a world where it seemed everything had a secondary purpose, every word that was said meant something else, every person had another motive, he appreciated transparency, even if it was her telling him that she would kill him if it came to that. She hadn't said it outright; even when she thought he might turn her down on helping to dismantle SHIELD and take on HYDRA, she'd still offered to get him out of her apartment and far from Rumlow and his men. But that provided another puzzle; how did she know Natasha?

One thing at a time, he decided. After all, it was a nine hour flight.

He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his hands down his knees, and raised an eyebrow in Stasiya's direction. "What's the story there?"

"I thought you were listening in when we were talking…" She took a sip from her coffee, her eyes never leaving him.

"I know why she's here _now_. I'm wondering how she got here at all… How it is you managed to get someone to trust you enough, _believe _in you enough, that she was willing to cut her tongue out." He stared at her searchingly. "That kind of loyalty doesn't come easy."

"You have a lot of fanboys willing to cut their tongues out for you, Captain?" she asked, her voice full of mocking.

But Steve wouldn't be deterred, simply staring at her, patient, willing to wait as long as it took to get a story.

She sighed at him, turning in her seat to drop one leg back to the floor while the other was tucked up underneath her. "I met Stasiya five years ago. She was 18…" Darcy paused for a moment, a muscle working in her jaw, and then she said, "She was a prisoner. They had her in shackles, she was stripped down to her underwear, she didn't look like she'd showered in… _months_, and she was just skin and bones…" She smiled, but it was hollow, humorless. "They fed them scraps, the food half-rotten, and the girls, they would fight each other for it, tearing at each other, just…_desperate _to eat."

Steve's shoulders slumped. "Sex trafficking."

Darcy nodded, her lips pursed. Taking a deep breath, she explained, "I was in Bulgaria for a target. Marko Vantchev. He was making a name for himself, importing and exporting. It wasn't hard to figure out that what he was dealing in wasn't a 'what' but a 'who'… It was good timing is all. The night I decided to take Vantchev out, they brought Stasiya in. He liked to sample them before they were sold… She was on the floor, kneeling there, crying, desperately signing at them. And they laughed… They mocked her, waving their hands around, like it was funny, like she was a _joke_…" Darcy's eyes hardened and Steve saw the distance in her expression as it all played out in her head in Technicolor. "They weren't laughing when I stepped in. Vantchev was the target, and I did my job. The rest… They were a bonus."

"You killed them, and saved Stasiya."

"I _destroyed _them." She turned to look at him sharply, her eyes full of fire. "And Stasiya, she just… knelt there, watching, her arms wrapped around herself. When it was over, I sat in front of her and I told her she would be okay. That she was free and she always would be. I told her I would get her home."

"Did you?"

"I released the other girls, called it in so they would be picked up by the authorities, taken somewhere safe, returned home, whatever they wanted. But Stasiya, she didn't want to wait for the cops to show up. So I took her with me. I had a hotel room I was staying in; safe, didn't ask questions, didn't even give us a second glance when we walked in at 3 in the morning… I showed her the shower, had some food brought up, and while she watched TV, I cleaned up, put away all the guns and the knives, and washed the blood out of my hair… When I was done, I told her I could take her anywhere she wanted. Bring her home, to her parents, to whoever she had waiting on her, and she shook her head, signed that she had no one. And then she reached over and she took my hand… And that was that."

"She's been with you ever since?"

Darcy nodded, chewing her lip as she circled a finger around the rim of her coffee mug absently. "I move around a lot, for jobs, but I have a few different homes, scattered all over. She picks one and stays there when I'm working; it's safer for her to move around. But she was stationary, studying history in college, when SHIELD took her… I knew it was a mistake, that she was an open target, but I didn't think they knew about her. I thought she was safe."

He frowned. "How did you find out she wasn't?"

That was when she grinned, looking rather mischievous, and all the more attractive. "Natasha."

His brows raised slightly. "She knew where you were?"

"Not where, just how to contact me. I'd been on a job for a few weeks, so I hadn't emailed or texted to check in with Stasiya in a while. When I had time to and she hadn't answered a few of my emails, I thought she was busy with school. She'd been studying for an exam and I told her she should get out, spend time with friends. I thought she took my advice. So when the phone rang, I knew something was wrong. There aren't a lot of people who have my number…"

"If Natasha knew, why didn't she call earlier?"

"She didn't know. Rumlow was running the op. He had his own team and she wasn't involved. But she heard things, knew they were looking for me and might have a lead. She put two and two together, did a little digging, and found out where Stasiya was. Then she called me."

"And what? She just released her to you?" Steve asked, unconvinced.

Darcy shook her head. "Natasha's a survivor. She's loyal to Coulson and Fury. She wouldn't go behind their backs without good reason."

"Then how? I highly doubt they let Stasiya walk away, not when she obviously knew how to find you."

"They didn't just shove her out the door and tell her to have a good life…" she admitted. "I took her back."

"Just one assassin against all of SHIELD…" He stared at her searchingly, wishing he could climb into her head and understand her better. There were glimpses of her, but they were so conflicting with what he knew and tried to put together from what he'd gathered in the short time they knew each other.

"Killing isn't my only talent, Captain. I'm rather adept at computers… I infiltrated SHIELD, but it was a quick job, in and out with nothing to show for it but an 'I just released a virus into your system' t-shirt. Didn't even get a postcard…" Seriously, she explained, "The virus kept them busy, put them on edge; it was eating up every file they ever made, making copies of them and sending them to me. Their IT crew were losing their minds over it. And then I made a personal call to Nick Fury and let him know he had two options. Either he released Stasiya to me, or I released the information I'd gathered on him and his… He's a smart man. Stasiya was released within the hour and I gave him the copies I'd made of his information, along with the code that would shut my virus down and erase it from their databases."

"And yet Rumlow thought he could work with you?"

Darcy waved it off dismissively. "He didn't know I knew it was him. Natasha shared that confidentially. As far as he knew, I hated SHIELD, not HYDRA."

"So you gave back all that information. You could've extorted Fury for anything but all you bargained for was Stasiya."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Greed always ends badly, Steve. You want too much, you never stop wanting."

He eyed her curiously. "Did you really give him all the copies?"

Her head cocked as she searched his eyes. "You don't think I'm a woman of my word?"

"I think you're smart," he said simply. "And I'd bet money that for the last five years, you've been keeping that information. I think your virus is still in their system, gathering up every file they put in."

Darcy grinned slowly, but it was fierce, that flash of viciousness that didn't quite fit with her casual clothes and loose, curly hair. "They made a mistake, thinking they could use Stasiya against me. They underestimated her. They didn't think she'd be that loyal. Worse, they thought if I knew that they had her, I would just turn myself in and let them take me."

"They underestimated you, too."

"They disrespected me. They _hurt _her. And that's unforgiveable." Her mouth tightened. "If I kept copies, it was an insurance policy, and Fury's smart enough to know that."

Steve nodded slowly. His mouth opened, but he paused for a moment, unsure if he wanted to ask, or know.

"You want to know if he was one of the people who hired me to kill you," she said perceptively, watching him over the rim of her coffee cup.

He clasped his hands together and stared back at her. "Was he?"

"Fury might be the one signing his name to have those helicarriers made, he might even believe that what he's doing is for the greater good, but I don't think he's HYDRA. He's just a paranoid man with too much power and not enough foresight to see that some friends will stab you in the back at the drop of a hat…" She turned her eyes away for a moment and then shook her head. "Pierce ordered it; handed it down to Rumlow personally. If your little attack dog was still under their thumb, they probably would've sent him for you; element of surprise and all that."

He turned to look at Bucky, still propped up in the chair. But he was tense like he hadn't been before, and Steve recognized it as the sign it was; Bucky wasn't asleep anymore. So far as he could tell, Clint was, but it made sense that Bucky's system would break down whatever he'd been dosed with before Clint's did.

"Lucky for you, you found him before they could unfridge him and set him on your tail." Darcy shrugged. "As it is, there's a good reason why Pierce said Barnes wasn't allowed on SHIELD property. If he saw him, he'd recognize him as the puppeteer pulling his strings."

Steve's expression darkened, his eyes darting as he tried to process what he was learning.

Before he could try to voice anything more, Stasiya joined them, eyeing all three men with suspicion before she turned to Darcy. [I'm going to get some sleep. Unless you need me out here?]

Darcy shook her head. [Go. Rest. I'll wake you before we land.]

Nodding her head, Stasiya signed [Goodnight] back to her before she moved further down the jet and disappeared through the curtain leading to the bathroom.

"There's a bedroom in the back," Darcy explained to him. "The door locks, which is probably why she's using it instead of just sleeping out here."

"She doesn't trust us."

"She doesn't trust men. Period." Darcy snapped her fingers then and bent forward to scoop her cat up from the floor, drawing her into her lap and petting her hand down the cat's back, scratching lightly at the scruff of her neck.

Steve watched her a moment, looking so calm and relaxed, smiling at her cat warmly. Darcy was entirely more complicated than he'd expected and he still felt like there was so much more of the puzzle he needed to figure out. Like how she knew Natasha, gaining enough mutual respect that Natasha was willing to call her and inform her that Stasiya was being held by SHIELD, essentially tipping her off, just in case Stasiya had broken and ratted Darcy out. More importantly, he wanted to know how Darcy became what she was. She'd said herself that she was twenty-one when things changed, but what things? And _why?_ He knew it was dangerous, to wonder, to get close, to let himself become infatuated with her, but that was exactly what was happening. He told himself it wasn't. That he asked out of curiosity, that it was only smart to know a potential opponent. But it was more than that. He wanted to know her, what made her tick, who she was behind the assassin's mask. Because the cold blooded murderer he'd been expecting to face off with was not who was sitting across from him, making kissy noises to her cat.

He gazed for a long moment, at the glasses sliding down the slope of her nose and the frizzy curl of her hair, and he knew he was in an entirely differently kind of trouble.

When he managed to tear his eyes from her, they settled back on Bucky, who had his own eyes open and was staring at Steve knowingly, an eyebrow arched.

"I assume since you haven't gone Winter Soldier that you have at least a vague idea of what's going on here…" Darcy said then, drawing their attention.

Both Bucky and Steve stared at her, surprised she'd noticed.

Her lips pursed in irritation. "You know, they wouldn't call in a second rate assassin to take out Captain America, so if you boys could stop assuming that I'm not _very _good at my job, that would be much appreciated."

"You wanna gold medal for murder, sweetheart?" Bucky asked, his voice a little thick and dry as he leaned forward in his seat and dragged a hand over his face.

"No, just a little less surprise when I happen to be capable. Too much to ask for?" She looked between them. "I didn't think so." Standing from the couch, she kept her cat with her and said, "There's coffee if you want it, but water will help with the headache. There's bottled stuff in the fridge; take as much as you need." Leaving her empty coffee mug behind, she started for the curtained doorway. "Get the good captain to catch you up on whatever you didn't overhear. We'll need to talk about where we go from here when you and Robin Hood are ready."

Bucky saluted as she left and then turned back to Steve, brows hiked, demanding an explanation.

Steve let out a long sigh. "Go get your water. It's a… complicated story."

"Yeah? Must be, since I know for a fact that's the assassin you were ordered to bring in. I know they compromised on letting you bring me along with you, as long as I stayed out of the way, but I doubt any of this was in the plan…"

Steve shook his head, his expression darkening. "It wasn't."

Not by a long shot, but there were a lot of things to discuss, like what Bucky remembered from when he and Clint were knocked out.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he leaned back into the couch, sinking into the cushions, and let out a sigh.

Bucky stood from his chair, stretching his arms above his head, and moved down the plane to search out the bottled water Darcy mentioned.

Steve waited, his mind running a mile a minute. Things were complicated, and they were going to get a lot worse. There were more players on the chess board and too many of them were double agents. If SHIELD was compromised, that meant their pool of who to trust was small. Darcy said Fury wasn't a part of it, but that wasn't a definite. Both Natasha and Clint were a part of SHIELD, but Steve wasn't willing to write them off yet. Darcy seemed to think Natasha was trustworthy, and while he knew it wasn't the best decision to trust her judgement, she did know more about the situation than he did. Still, he would have to be careful.

When Bucky rejoined him, Steve looked up, watching him guzzle back one entire bottle of water before he opened a second and retook his seat.

Licking his lips dry, he nodded toward Steve, brows flashing. "So?"

Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and took a deep breath. Where to start…


	4. Chapter 4

**fic**: I don't want your money, I don't want your crown (see, I've come to burn your kingdom down)  
><strong>category<strong>: thor/captain america/avengers  
><strong>genre<strong>: humor/action/romance  
><strong>chapter rating<strong>: r (violence)**  
>overall rating<strong>: nc-17 (eventual explicit sex)**  
>ship<strong>: darcy/steve  
><strong>summary<strong>: When Steve is sent in to apprehend the extremely skilled assassin, Darcy Lewis, he finds more than he bargained for, and a very unexpected ally in the process.

**WARNING**: Graphic violence, discussion of sex trafficking!

**[4]**

Stasiya stripped out of her pants and tank top, tossing them toward a basket in the corner and crawled across the bed in nothing but her underwear, dropping down to lay flat on her stomach, hugging the pillow up under her chin and letting out a heavy sigh. It was difficult to imagine getting any kind of sleep when Darcy was out there alone. It wasn't as if her friend needed Stasiya to watch her back; she was more than capable of handling any situation that arose, but Stasiya still felt like she should be there. She couldn't help but think that Darcy's feelings on the situation were… _skewed_ a little.

It was the Captain's fault, she decided. The way he looked at Darcy, how he stepped into her personal space, like he didn't fear the quick strike of a killing blow, as if he were willing to tempt fate to get a little closer… Men had tried before, but those men hadn't known the true nature of Darcy. Maybe they thought they did, maybe they liked the little flash of mischief they saw in her, liked that she wasn't an angel under all that devilish gloss. But those men suffered for their trying; all men did. Except the Captain. Instead, Darcy chose to save him and his compatriots, and that didn't sit well with Stasiya. She didn't demand blood in all situations; she understood that, more often than not, it was men paying for the jobs Darcy did, but this was different. Those men were customers; they were smart enough to pay for services rendered and never get too close. What Darcy was offering the Captain was something different. To be an ally, to _help _him… It twisted Stasiya's stomach up.

Men were not to be trusted. Men only wanted and took and gave nothing back. She knew that firsthand…

His name was Dmitry, the boy who made her think she was in love. And oh, he was pretty. Lean and tall, with dark hair and warm green eyes. When he smiled at her, she felt it shake her very bones. She'd fallen for him so quickly, caught up in the dreamy future he painted for her. She'd been a girl, stuck in the system, moving from group home to group home, and Dmitry offered stability. He'd been so good, so smart, getting her to trust him, asking her to help him with his sign language, using it to bring them closer. She thought he'd loved her, she'd been so sure.

And the next thing she knew, she was waking up in a dirty basement, her clothes stripped from her, the cold, cement floor scraping at her skin. There'd been so many of them, so many girls; some crying, some catatonic, others holding tight to their rage. Stasiya remembered being confused. What had happened? Where was she? What was going on? She wanted to believe Dmitry had no part in what was happening. Instead, she feared for him. Worried that he must have been hurt. That these people that had her must have _ripped _her from his arms. It wasn't until later, until she saw him sitting in that room, talking to Markos about how much money she was worth, that she might be _damaged _goods, but she made up for it in other ways, that she truly understood. And that smile that used to make butterflies swarm in her stomach suddenly left her feeling so cold.

She signed at them, at the men who put her in shackles and dragged her up from the depths of the basement, and even to Dmitry, hoping he might realize what he was doing, come to his senses, see her as a person and not an object. But he looked right through her, and she wondered how many of those women below had been just like her. How many of them fell for the way he ducked his head when he laughed, his hair falling in his eyes. How many of them leaned into his touch when he reached for them, stroking their cheeks. How many of them believed him when he said he loved them, that he wanted to take them somewhere, they just had to _trust_ him. How many of them had been sold by him?

She gritted her teeth, rage and heartbreak rolling through her, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Did he understand what she'd been through? Weeks, maybe _months_, of laying curled up in that basement, cement and dirt biting at her skin, her stomach twisting and screaming for food. She'd been so hungry. The scraps they threw on the floor from rancid buckets was never enough, and it was a horror show trying to fight with the other girls for any bit of food. But the ones who didn't… The ones who gave up… She had to watch them waste away, watch them lay in corners, their cheeks becoming more and more hollow, their skin stretching over protruding bones, looking sallow and thin. And then they stopped breathing, stopped moving, just went limp. It took days for anybody to remove them, letting them rot on the basement floor, empty and lost. Stasiya didn't know their names, but sometimes she made ones up for them, something to hold onto, something to remember them by besides that hollow, dead look in their eyes as they slipped away.

Kneeling on the marble floor of the house, she was stunned at first, to see how different this part of the house was to the basement. Such luxury while she and the other girls lived in putrid squalor, using the farthest corner for a bathroom, vomiting in the dirt when the smell became too much. She stood out starkly against the others, her skin smudged with dirt, her hair in tangles, her body weak with malnutrition, while they stood around, clean, well fed, amused by her as she struggled to communicate, to beg them not to hurt her.

She knew what they did. The others girls told her, whole groups of them dragged up the stairs to be sold off, sometimes to men as personal slaves, other times to work the streets or in houses, drugged up in a room, waiting for their next customer. It terrified her. And despite knowing that there was nothing she could do or say that would change their minds, she tried. She tried so hard. Sobbing and signing and reaching for them, begging them to see her, to _free _her. But they only laughed. She felt defeat coming, she felt it flare out from her dying heart and wash over her skin. They would take her and use her and she would die a husk of who she was, years from now, when her body was no longer useful.

And just as she was beginning to accept that her future was so empty, so bleak, it all changed.

Stasiya couldn't hear it, but by Glory, she _wished_ she could. She saw it, though. She saw the blood spit out of Vantchev's chest as a bullet slammed into his heart so beautifully, so perfectly, that Stasiya smiled.

Chaos broke out, the other men suddenly moving, reaching for guns and knives, shouting at each other. It was blessedly silent for Stasiya, watching them run around like chickens with their heads cut off. And bullet after bullet flew, head shots and chest shots taking down man after man, leaving them laying on the floor, some dead on impact, others struggling desperately to live, until each of them lay still, their eyes so reminiscent of the girls they let die, dragging their bodies up the stairs by an arm or a leg or their hair, with no care, no concern, no compassion at all.

One after the other, they fell, and then the bullets stopped, and She was there.

And oh, She was glorious.

Fierce and strong and moving with such grace. The Woman wielded a knife in either hand and ducked under the reaching arms of the men that swarmed her. Her dark hair spun around her, whipping at the air as she dodged and swerved. She swung left and sliced the throat of one man, blood spraying across her face, and then she leapt right and kicked another in the solar plexus, stalking toward him as he stumbled back, struggling to breathe. She thrust her blade up beneath his chin, twisted it and drew it back, before turning to face the others. Her eyes were fierce, a glittering blue full of fury and vengeance, and she bared her teeth in a matching snarl.

Stasiya knew love in that moment and it was nothing like what she felt for Dmitry. It wasn't even truly for The Woman, but instead for the power, the strength, the independence She wore, moving with such complete ownership of every move, every kill, every breath she took.

The Woman threw one of her knives through a man's eye just before he raised his gun; Stasiya imagined the noise it made as the blade sunk through skin and eyeball, watching as he fell back to the floor in a heap of oddly angled arms and legs.

Knives put away, Stasiya's savior was taking on two men at the same time, twisting and turning, punching and kicking, landing such severe blows that even Stasiya swore she could hear bones breaking and skin splitting. While she broke one man's neck, she kicked the other in the face, and as he stumbled back, she released her arm from the one's neck to chase the other. He stumbled over his feet, wiping at the blood pouring from his nose and down his chin. He licked his lips and teeth, spat a gob of blood onto the floor, and raised his fists, readying for a fight. She grinned at him and crooked two fingers, telling him to go ahead and try. His mouth opened in what Stasiya imagined was a war cry, but he didn't make it far. He ran forward, rushing The Woman, but just as he was about to reach her, she dodged to the left. When he stumbled to a stop, she was at his back, and she showed him no mercy. She kicked him low in the back and when his knees buckled and he arched backwards in pain, she reached around him and sunk her knife right through his neck, until the end stuck out the back.

And that was all of them.

Stasiya returned her gaze to Dmitry, sprawled across the bottom of the stairs on his back, his one remaining eye shot wide. When The Woman had come for him, he'd stretched an arm out, shaking his head, weeping like a little boy, begging for mercy, but She had given him none. He lost three fingers to The Woman's knife and his life to the heel of her shoe. She'd put it right through his eye, long and sharp, like a needle straight through the brain. He twitched as he died, blood dribbling from his nose. The Woman hadn't even given him the courtesy of paying much attention to him, killing two others while her heel was still imbedded in Dmitry's head.

The floor was awash in blood and bodies, lit up like the basement never was, giving it clear, defined edges that Stasiya would remember for the rest of her life.

Stasiya looked up then, as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to meet the woman who had saved her, watching as her legs extended, body still poised for attack, looking like a predator searching for prey. But there was only Stasiya left.

She hadn't realized she was hugging herself, her arms wrapped tight around her small, shaking frame. Was it fear or excitement that caused her to shake? She wasn't sure.

Staring up at The Woman, she wondered if she should plead her case. Perhaps she wasn't a savior at all and Stasiya would be her last victim… She didn't cry, though. She didn't raise her hands to sign to her, begging for her life. She simply stared up at her, tears still slipping down her cheeks. And then The Woman, with blood slicking her skin and fire in her eyes, knelt before Stasiya, taking a seat on the ground, making herself equal to Stasiya in a way no one had in _so _long. She stared at Stasiya a long moment and then raised her hands, palm up, in a sign that she would not hurt her. It was an odd sight,Stasiya thought, as she'd just seen this woman kill men with her bare hands; she could easily do the same now. But Stasiya understood the meaning behind it.

And then the woman began to sign to her; her movements were stiff, as if she hadn't signed in a long time, but she was still understandable.

[You will be okay. They will not hurt you anymore. You are _free_. Do you understand?]

Stasiya's brow furrowed and she raised her tearful eyes up to meet The Woman's, who nodded at her slowly.

[I will get you home. You will never have to see this place again. _I promise._]

Stasiya broke then, leaning forward, her shoulders shaking as she cried, her chin trembling. She rocked forward, burying her face in her hands, and silently gave thanks to whoever had sent this woman to save her.

She felt a brief squeeze to her shoulder and when she looked up The Woman was standing. Panic lanced through Stasiya; what if she left? What then?

[I'm going to get the other girls] The Woman signed. [And then I'll call in the police. They can get you home.]

Stasiya shook her head frantically. [Please, I don't want to go with them. Don't let them take me away. _Please_.]

The Woman stared at her a long moment and then nodded.

Before she could walk away, Stasiya reached for her hand and brought the knuckles to her cheek, leaning into the touch. [Thank you] she signed.

The Woman turned her hand over, her palm gently cupping Stasiya's face, and then she nodded.

As she slipped away, Stasiya watched her go and then she turned her attention back to the carnage around her and she laughed, pressing her hand to her mouth as her shoulders shook. This was the moment where it all changed. The moment where she knew her life would never be the same. It wouldn't be lived as these men wanted it to and neither would it be like it was before.

Pushing up to her feet, the shackles still rubbing at her wrists, she looked around and knew… She was _free_, and she wouldn't let anyone take that from her again.

And for two years she was. Darcy took Stasiya with her, first bringing her back to her hotel suite to get clean and eat real food, though she had to pace herself after what little she'd been given.

[I can bring you home. Tell me where and I will take you there] Darcy signed as she sat at a table beside an open window, guns and knives in front of her in two piles, clean and to be cleaned.

[I have no home] Stasiya told her. [I have no one.]

Darcy paused, her hands raising from a long hunting knife. [Where do you want to go?]

Stasiya stared at her a long moment and then asked [Where are _you_ going?]

The answer was clear; she wanted to go with Darcy; she wanted to _stay _with Darcy.

And it would take some convincing, but, for whatever reason, Darcy chose to indulge her.

They traveled a lot.

Darcy had a jet that could take her anywhere, and anywhere was where she went. She showed Stasiya the world; the finest of hotels, the tastiest of foods, the most luxurious of baths, which were a must for Stasiya, as she still often felt like the filth of that basement clung to her, seeping into her pores. For a year, Darcy brought Stasiya anywhere she wanted to go, to see anything she wanted to see, and then Stasiya asked for something different. She'd seen a group of girls around her age, walking through the quad of a college not far from the hotel she and Darcy were staying in, and a pang of longing hit her hard. That was what she wanted. Traveling was nice, but normality was something she craved. And, like always, Darcy indulged her on this too. She paid for Stasiya to attend college, to study history as she'd wanted to long before she met Dmitry. And for one blissful year, it was all studying and tests and making friends, trading emails and texts to let Darcy know how things were going.

And then SHIELD barged into her apartment, explaining nothing, ignoring the way she signed at them, demanding to know who they were and what they were doing in her home. They dragged her off in handcuffs and ignored her during the flight bringing her to the States, where she was introduced to their holding cells and Rumlow's personal brand of interrogation. For three weeks, they demanded to know where Darcy was, how to contact her, anything she knew about her, and Stasiya gave them nothing. They attempted scare tactics, having Rumlow try to intimidate her. And she laughed at him, at his pathetic attempt at being anywhere near as deadly as Darcy was. They tried waterboarding her, starving her, sleep deprivation and sensory overload. But she sat in the corner of her cell and she stayed strong. Did it hurt? Yes, absolutely. But it angered her more. This man, these people, thinking they could strip her of her dignity again, make her turn her back on the only person who cared about her. She wouldn't do it. Not for anything.

And then she saw her chance to show them how little progress they had made. Rumlow hadn't secured his knife properly to his thigh strap and, using some of the moves Darcy had taught her, she got it away from him. But she didn't kill him like she so desperately wanted to, because then they would kill her and she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. If she did, Darcy wouldn't have a chance to get her out. She clung strong to that, knowing deep to her bones that, whatever it took, Darcy would come for her. So instead, she made sure she had Rumlow's attention and then she took that knife and she cut the tongue from her mouth. The pain was excruciating; black spots danced in front of her eyes and agony ran up and down her body likes bolts of lightning burning her from the inside out. But she did it, and she sat on the floor, blood filling her mouth and spilling down her chin. Meaningfully, she placed the knife and her tongue on the ground for him to see, and glared up at him, daring him to do his worst.

Four days later, she was handed over to Darcy on a helipad above SHIELD, a helicopter waiting behind Darcy and a gun gripped in her hand. The wind blew through Darcy's hair, whipping it around her face, and Stasiya stared at her, her avenging angel, full of death and violence for everyone but her.

The man gripping Stasiya's arm was unfamiliar; tall, black, broad-shouldered, with an eye patch. He undid her handcuffs and thrust her forward to meet Darcy.

Darcy looked her over searchingly, but Stasiya knew better than to reach for her and let this man see weakness in either of them. Instead, Stasiya simply walked past Darcy and climbed into the helicopter, rubbing her wrists before she strapped in. She watched as Darcy and Eye-patch exchanged a folder and a FOB and then Darcy was walking away, taking the seat across from her, signing that she would explain later. Finally, they were off, flying as far away from SHIELD as they could get, landing at an air strip and transferring onto Darcy's jet shortly thereafter. Stasiya had no idea where they were headed; she was just happy to be somewhere familiar. After showering, she found Darcy in the hull, sitting on the couch, and she laid down beside her, resting her head in Darcy's lap, feeling her fingers drag through her hair soothingly as she broke down and cried.

She didn't return to school after that. She buried what hopes she had of 'normal' and instead returned to traveling. She asked Darcy to train her in more than just defense, but offense too. She wasn't sure if one day she would be just like her, accepting contracts to kill whoever needed killing. But she wanted to know that, if push came to shove, she could meet whoever thought to challenge her. She wouldn't let them shackle her again. _Not ever_.

And now three SHIELD agents sat on the jet she had called home. They ate her food and sat in her seats and breathed her air. They dared to sit beside Darcy as if they were her equal. It was wrong. All of it. She didn't care if he was Captain America; Stasiya owed him no loyalty. She wasn't even of his country. He was the enemy. All of them were. All but Darcy. Fear and worry bubbled up in her gut in a way she hated. How would she keep Darcy safe from this if she was so adamant she knew what she was doing?

Stasiya frowned, closing her eyes tight, and buried her face in her pillow. If she couldn't convince Darcy, and she would try, then she would just have to watch Darcy's back. There were no other options.

* * *

><p>Stasiya looked up as Darcy stepped through the door to the bedroom, a shaft of light falling over her previously sleeping face. Only the two of them had the lock code to get inside. Despite being tired, Stasiya sat up immediately, on alert and looking worried.<p>

Darcy let her cat, Pond, down onto the bed, closed the door, and crawled across the bed to lay beside her. [It's fine] Darcy signed. [One of the other men woke up. They're talking about what happened.]

Stasiya laid back on the bed, but her posture was stiff.

[You're worried] Darcy sat up, her legs crossed beneath her.

[Why do you trust him?] Stasiya wondered, shaking her head.

[I don't.]

Stasiya raised an unconvinced eyebrow. [I know you. You're different with him.]

Darcy shook her head, frowning. [How?]

[You _talk _to him…] She stared at her, brows furrowed, and pushed herself up so she was facing her better. [He's your enemy. He might look pretty, but he is still the enemy] she reminded, her gestures a little harsher then.

Darcy dropped her gaze for a moment. [I know…] She shook her head. [I haven't forgotten.]

Stasiya reached for Darcy's hands and squeezed them, bringing one up so Darcy's knuckles were pressed to Stasiya's cheek.

She smiled gently and mouthed slowly, so Stasiya could read her lips, "I know you care. I promise you, I will not put you in danger."

With a sigh, Stasiya rolled her eyes and drew her hands back. [It's not me I'm worried about.] Having said what she wanted to, Stasiya laid back down, closing her eyes and burying her face in her pillow.

Darcy stared at her a long moment. She considered drawing her back into conversation, but she understood that Stasiya didn't want to talk anymore. She'd made her point and that was all she wanted. So, Darcy climbed to the top of the bed and leaned against the headboard, drawing Pond up to sit with her, curled up in her lap as Darcy stroked her fingers through her cat's soft, silver fur.

Stasiya wasn't wrong. She knew she was acting differently with Steve; it just sort of happened. Seeing someone in stock footage or on paper, it just wasn't the same as meeting them in person. And when he'd walked into the room, she'd _felt _it. Right down into her bones, his presence just _resonated_. She'd been expecting someone larger than life, and the size of him lived up to that expectation, but there was something more. It wasn't just the musculature that screamed perfectly molded weapon at her, though that was a turn on in and of itself. It was more than that. Maybe it was the fact that she so rarely met people who stood by what they said they believed in, and she could see that he did. Part of her wanted to believe he was just like all the rest. That there was some number out there that he could be bought with. That he would sell his dreams away for a shot at riches and glory. But he had risked himself, taking up arms with an assassin, to save his friends, to have even a_chance_ at saving others.

He wasn't perfect. He questioned her and she hated that. She'd worked hard to earn her place in this world, even if it was earned putting others into the ground. Maybe her moral compass was skewed, maybe she was more villain than hero, but she had her reasons. And maybe villain wasn't all she was. She wondered about that some days. Turning her head, she looked down at Stasiya, who was quickly falling asleep beside her. She loved her like a sister. Hell, some days, she loved her like a daughter. The age gap wouldn't support that, but the way she treated her, took care of her, did. Stasiya was her only family, her only real friend, in this world, and she would tear it apart to keep her safe.

Perhaps a hero would sacrifice one for the greater good while the villain was too selfish to think of the bigger picture. Maybe that was what it was. Because Darcy would burn the world to ash if that was what it took. Oh, she'd signed on to do what she could to keep HYDRA from taking over and destroying what little good the world had to offer. And she would stand up and do just that in any way she could. But she had her own loyalties and, first and foremost, hers were to Stasiya. She only hoped it didn't come to that. That, somehow, Stasiya would stay far enough out of this war that she would never be touched. While Darcy's first instinct was to bundle her up and hide her somewhere, she knew better than that. Stasiya was always given a choice. It was her life, to do with as she chose, and while Darcy might not always agree, she recognized that Stasiya was her own person and therefore had autonomy. So she would bring her along and hope for the best; it was the only thing she could do.

Truthfully, it was all any of them could do. They were going after not one, but two, powerhouses. SHIELD wouldn't take lightly to being told they were corrupt; that too many of their people were HYDRA plants and not loyal to SHIELD at all. Regardless, Darcy had no loyalty to either faction. She only knew that they wanted to use her to bring in something worse. She wouldn't let HYDRA take control, not when she knew what they could do. What they _had_done. She'd seen evil in her life; she'd stared it square in the eye and spat in its face, but HYDRA was in a different league, and she didn't think she could take them down alone. She wasn't even sure taking them down completely was an option yet. But, at the very least, she could stop their latest grab at world domination in its tracks.

She would just need a little help.

Which was exactly why Steve Rogers was sitting on her jet, alive and unharmed. It was, in part, her respect for Natasha that made it so, but there were other reasons. She would need him if she wanted to make headway in taking down SHIELD and HYDRA. He had insider knowledge and connections that could aid her. Not to mention, Barnes had firsthand knowledge of the inner-workers of HYDRA. Or, he _might_, depending on what he remembered from his stay as their trigger-happy puppet. But that made them useful, and that was why they were with her. But 'being useful' wasn't why her eyes lingered on Steve, why some part of her even enjoyed the way he stood up to her, ready to question her actions, if only because she got to prove just how competent she was. And she felt him watching her right back, felt the way his gaze lingered on her, and not only just on the curves that had been the fall of too many men before him, but on her face, her eyes. He watched her like he wanted to _know _her, and that… that was dangerous.

But then again, Darcy _liked_ danger.


	5. Chapter 5

**fic**: I don't want your money, I don't want your crown (see, I've come to burn your kingdom down)  
><strong>category<strong>: thor/captain america/avengers  
><strong>genre<strong>: humor/action/romance  
><strong>chapter rating<strong>: r (violence)**  
>overall rating<strong>: nc-17 (eventual explicit sex)**  
>ship<strong>: darcy/steve  
><strong>summary<strong>: When Steve is sent in to apprehend the extremely skilled assassin, Darcy Lewis, he finds more than he bargained for, and a very unexpected ally in the process.

**[5]**

"You're telling me a trained assassin took one look at you and decided not to kill you?" Bucky raised an eyebrow, a grin turning his lips up crookedly. "That serum really did wonders for ya, huh, punk?"

Steve rolled his eyes and rubbed his fingers in circles over his temples. "_Really? _Out of everything I said, _that _is what you want to focus on?"

Bucky shrugged.

Sighing, Steve shook his head. "No, I think talking to me helped her make her decision. She was on the fence. She was prepared to help me if I was, I don't know, _worthy_, I guess. But if she didn't think I was up to it…"

Bucky frowned, thoughtfully. "You sure about that?"

"Like you said… she's an assassin. I'm not going to delude myself into thinking she's not as deadly as she is just because I'm attracted to her." He shrugged, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, fingers clasped together loosely. "Regardless of _why_, Darcy knows more than we do about this situation, and, for whatever reason, she wants to help."

"Help. You don't think this might be a play, too?" he wondered. "Rumlow trusts her enough to put her in a room alone with you. Maybe she gets under your skin, makes you think she's an ally… Takes us all down just when we start to trust her."

Steve nodded shortly. "I've considered that."

"Yeah. And?" He cocked an eyebrow, his head tipped curiously. "What'd you come up with that you decided to risk it?"

"I needed out of that apartment. I needed to get to you and Clint. I figured I'd deal with Darcy after that."

"But…?"

"But…" He shook his head, frowning. "You didn't see her face. When she talked about Rumlow, about HYDRA, you can't fake that kind of anger. I don't think she'd ever do anything that would benefit them."

"Look, Steve, I don't know this woman. I know she's got 7 years of high profile kills under her belt and she's efficient. I read the dossier on her; those records are detailed, and they don't paint a pretty picture." He stared at him searchingly. "She's a real pretty dame, but she's got poison in her blood, and if push came to shove, how sure are you she wouldn't leave you to die and save herself?"

"I'm not asking for her loyalty. I'm not even asking for her to watch my back. And I won't tell you to trust her… Truthfully, yes, I know it doesn't look good. I'm attracted to her. But that's not coloring my perception here. She's deadly, I know that. She killed three men when we came for you; she didn't even flinch."

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "How'd she move?"

Steve shook his head, his brows hiked, and let out a heavy sigh. "It was like she was dancing. She was fast. _Confident_. She walked in there knowing she would win ,and you knew it too, watching her."

"This is dangerous, you and her…" Bucky stared at him meaningfully. "Keep your eyes open."

"Hey, I know." He half-smiled reassuringly. "I will."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Bucky leaned back in his chair. "So, where do we go from here?"

"We need to call 'Tasha," Clint's rough voice offered.

Steve and Bucky turned to him abruptly, watching as he gave a groan and sat forward, dragging his hands down his face and rubbing at his eyes. "Shit. What'd I get hit with?"

Bucky stood to get him a couple bottles of water while Steve explained, "Quick-acting toxin. She mixed it up herself. The water'll help flush it out, but you might be groggy for a while."

Accepting the bottles from Bucky's outstretched hands, Clint knocked one back much like Bucky had and sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose for a long moment as he tried to breathe and focus. "Okay," he said, shaking it off and focusing on them. "So what? We've got a rogue assassin, a corrupt SHIELD, and HYDRA is building helicarriers with the ability to wipe out anybody they don't like… I miss anything?"

"Steve's got the hots for the assassin," Bucky offered, grinning at Steve's glare.

"Well, he does like impossible missions," Clint said, mouth turned up on one side.

Shaking his head faintly, Steve turned to Clint and asked, seriously, "You think we should call Natasha?"

Sobering, Clint nodded. "That toxin was effective, but the sleep effects wore off before the paralysis did. I could hear you guys talking, but I couldn't move."

"So you're all caught up?"

He nodded shortly, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, and I'm wondering how she knows Tasha…"

"Million dollar question," Steve mused. "Can you call her? Would we get reception up here?"

"On the phone Stark gave me, I could get reception on Saturn…" Clint reached down to one of the pockets on his pants, unzipped it, and pulled out a Stark phone, upgraded to be sturdier due to their business. "I'll text her first. If I call and she's busy, she'll tear my head off…" he explained before his thumbs started tapping at the screen. He read it out for them before he hit send: [The target Rogers was sent after is Darcy Lewis. Anything I need to know?]

Steve nodded and Clint sent it off.

While they waited, Steve found himself wondering what kind of response he was hoping for. Would Natasha immediately admit that she knew Darcy and discourage them from going after her? Or, even if she did have ties to her, would she cover them up? How much honesty could he expect from her? But then, she might be more open with Clint than him. She and Steve worked together, yes, but there was distance between them. It was difficult for him to trust anyone, and while he respected Natasha, he wasn't completely sure he trusted her.

There was a ping as the text arrived and he leaned forward with interest.

Clint turned the phone for them to see the screen.

Tasha: [Do not engage.]

Tasha: [REPEAT: Do. NOT. Engage.]

Clint turned it back around, typing out, [Need a little more than that.]

A handful of seconds passed before the phone rang, demanding attention and seeming so much louder in the tensed quiet.

Barton answered and put it on speaker. "We're here," he told her.

Natasha's voice was stressed as she replied, "Listen to me, Lewis is extremely skilled. If you attempt to get near her, she'll know. She'll know before you even _think _about attacking her. She has connections everywhere; she'll be one step ahead of you every time. Do _not_ engage her, Clint. You won't walk away from it."

Clint looked up, looking between them, his mouth set in a line.

"Who ordered this?" Natasha asked then, sounding more than a little agitated. "There's a strict Do-Not-Engage order on Lewis. Fury handed it down himself."

"Rumlow," Steve answered. "I was supposed to bring her in to SHIELD."

A stream of colorful Russian swearing answered them. "Rumlow's been chasing Lewis for years."

Steve sighed. "Yeah, well, things aren't that cut and dry anymore."

"What do you mean?'

He paused, licked his lips, and then stared down at the phone. "I need to ask you something."

"Then ask."

"Five years ago… _Stasiya_…"

There was a pause, thick and loud, and he waited.

"I'm listening," she said, her voice carefully devoid of emotion.

"Did you tip Lewis off that SHIELD had her?" Steve asked her point-blank.

Natasha let out a rushed sigh. "It's complicated."

"But you know her?"

"Yes."

"And you…" He struggled with how to word it, frowning all the while. "Would you trust her?"

"Trust? It's not that simple… I _respect _her. You never trust an assassin."

Steve dragged a hand down his mouth and ignored Bucky's meaningful look. "It was a set-up. Rumlow didn't send me in to get Lewis."

Putting it together, Natasha said, "He sent you in for her to kill you."

He nodded, despite knowing she couldn't see him.

"But you're alive." She sounded _almost _surprised. He wasn't sure if he should be offended or not.

His mouth twitched. "You don't think I could take her?"

Natasha was honest as she answered, "I think… that if she wanted you dead, she would've found a way to kill you."

It should have worried him; it didn't. "She offered something else instead."

Bucky snorted and Steve glared at him, lips pursed.

Refocusing his attention, Steve explained, "Natasha, Rumlow is HYDRA. And according to Darcy, so is Pierce. They ordered the hit on me. I guess I'm lucky, because she hates HYDRA."

"She saved you…" Natasha's voice was distant, as if she were trying to process that information.

"I'm guessing that's not a regular occurrence?" Clint snorted.

A frustrated noise answered him. "Listen, I can't talk about this right now. I need a more secure line. If what you're saying is true… Look, I know her. When she sets her mind to something, she gets it done. If she saved you, it was for a purpose."

"Quid pro quo?" Clint wondered.

"She needs you or information you have or _something_."

Steve nodded. "She wants my help, dismantling HYDRA." And possibly SHIELD, but he didn't say that.

Natasha hummed. "You mentioned Stasiya; is she with her?"

"She convinced Darcy to let her come along," he answered. "She doesn't trust us."

"She wouldn't. You're all SHIELD to her," Natasha said simply. And Steve wondered how much she knew about Stasiya's stay with SHIELD; if she'd seen the footage and knew that Stasiya had cut her own tongue out. He hadn't shared that with Clint or Bucky; it didn't feel right to.

Natasha's voice caught his attention again, full of warning. "Stasiya might look young, but she's strong. She's smart and she's deadly. And she's _extremely _loyal to Lewis. So don't do anything stupid… _Clint_."

Clint rolled his eyes, and chose not to comment.

"Where are you?" Natasha wondered.

"On our way back," Steve told her. "Darcy has a private jet. We're heading to New York. Can you meet us there?"

"I'll be there." She paused then. "I know I said I didn't trust her… but if I had to pick between Rumlow or Darcy, I'd pick her every time. She's… different. If you earn her respect, she'll always have your back, and that's hard to find."

Steve nodded. "Understood."

"Call me when you're on the ground." With that, Natasha hung up.

Clint frowned and put his phone away, raising his eyebrows at them. "Well? Options?"

"What about the others?" Bucky wondered, his lips pursed as he tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. "We've called in Nat. What about the rest of the team?"

Nodding, Clint said, "Stark would help just for a chance to bring SHIELD down a peg."

"Is Thor planet-side?" Steve wondered.

Bucky shook his head. "He took off again after that thing in London. Foster's at Stark Tower now, though. She might have an idea when he'll be back."

"What about Banner?"

"He's at Stark Tower, too," Clint answered. "He'll be pissed. Some of his work is still being held by SHIELD. If people got a hold of that… Or if he even thought that was an _option_…"

A long pause followed then as they considered the ramifications of SHIELD being corrupt, of HYDRA plants and what kind of information could have been shared.

"So, I'll ask the hard question if no one else will," Bucky said, looking between them. "Are we assuming none of us are compromised?"

Clint turned to him and then glanced at Steve. "The only real SHIELD agents here are me and Nat. If you have your concerns, voice 'em."

Steve stared at him a long moment. "If you were HYDRA, Rumlow would have worked with you, not knocked you out. And Darcy would know about you."

"If Darcy was on the up and up," Bucky added, playing devil's advocate.

Steve nodded. "Personally, I don't believe Clint or Natasha are. And evidence backs that up enough for me."

Clint stared at him, long and hard, and then nodded. "Look, I've with SHIELD for a long time. But my loyalty isn't to them. It was to Coulson. And if he knew that there was something going on, if he had any idea that HYDRA might have been infiltrating SHIELD, he would take them apart. I'm prepared to do that."

"Good. Because you'll probably have to," Darcy's voice piped up.

She walked into the room with her cat moving between her feet, tail swishing, green eyes darting between the men curiously.

Clint looked up at her, quickly taking her in, from the expression on her face to the way she stood, seemingly relaxed but ready for any sign of attack. His mouth turned up faintly. "Clint Barton," he introduced himself. "I think we have a mutual friend."

She stared down at him, an eyebrow raised. "Yeah? And where did Natasha rustle you up from, cowboy?" Despite her question, Steve couldn't help but think Darcy already knew. In fact, he would bet she knew more about them than they ever wanted her to.

He grinned slowly. "It was me who found her, actually."

"And you were smart enough not to pull the bow string…" She hummed before taking a seat on the couch and cast her eyes over to Bucky. "So, is it introductions all around, or can I assume you're all caught up on who I am?"

"A little more backstory would be appreciated." Bucky leaned forward, eyeing her. "Like why an assassin decides to become altruistic when the red, white, and blue gets a target on his back."

Her lips curled faintly, as if she were amused. "What is this? Harlequin Romance? Men, they always think it's about them." She snickered. "Much as you might think I turned my back on big money and bigger guns for a slice of apple pie, I made a choice based on personal interests."

Bucky snorted. "And those personal interests don't have anything to do with wanting to get into his patriotic pants?"

She laughed, sincere amusement filling her, and Steve couldn't help but think that she was beautiful when she laughed.

"I never said I didn't want in them. I said that wasn't _why _I was doing it. If it happens to be a benefit, I won't turn it down."

Steve looked between them, wondering if he should be embarrassed or not by how casually they were discussing it. Although, some part of him felt a stab of pride that she wasn't shying away from the attraction in the least.

"My relationship with SHIELD is complicated on its own," Darcy continued. "But Fury and I came to an agreement a long time ago. He doesn't fuck with me, and I don't fuck with him. So when Rumlow put feelers out, I got curious. Next thing I know, I've got Pierce trying to hire me to not only personally take out Captain America but to join up with HYDRA and their little 'revolution.'" She rolled her eyes, as if the idea wasn't even worth the energy to talk about. "So I played ball. I'm not stupid. If I said no, they would have shot me dead where I stood and found the next best assassin."

"You weren't tempted?" Bucky wondered, his expression carefully controlled.

Darcy's amusement faded then, replaced with the fierce anger Steve had seen in her in brief, honest spurts. "Their whole idea is based on survival of the fittest. Destroy the weak and rise above them. Well, I'm stronger, and a hell of a lot smarter, so if they want to play that game, they _lose_." Her eyes narrowed. "HYDRA won't shape the world for the better, but for the worst. And you might find it funny, that an assassin cares about what the world becomes, but I like balance. HYDRA thinks the world would be better with their alpha male brigade running around, controlling everything. I don't like being controlled, and if they want to play with the big dogs, then they're going to find out my bite is a lot worse than my bark."

Bucky shook his head, his brow knotted. "You think you can bring down the whole organization? They'll know by now that you aren't on their team. That you helped Steve and us out of there."

"I don't need them to think I'm with them anymore. That part's done. The only reason you three are alive right now is because of me." She cast her eyes around to each of them before settling back on Bucky. "Rumlow will call it in, explain his side, and after that… It's war. Pierce will have to decide what he wants to do, and if you want my opinion, his first move will be making it look like _you're _the traitors."

"How?"

"Well, it probably doesn't look great that you're traveling with a known assassin…" she scoffed.

"Would Fury believe that?" Steve wondered, frowning.

"Fury is naturally suspicious." Darcy shrugged, leaning back in the corner of the couch. "The problem is, who's he more suspicious of? You, or a man he's known most of his life?"

"If Pierce convinces him, that'll put the whole team at risk." Steve stiffened, his eyes dropping. "We need to warn the others."

"And soon," Clint agreed. "If Rumlow gets to Pierce and he tips off Fury, the first thing they'll do is bring in Stark and Banner. Without a head's up, they'll think they're friendly." He shook his head, reaching for his phone again. "What's the plan then? We call and then what?"

"Stark's in New York?" Darcy asked.

Steve nodded shortly.

"They'll expect you to run; they won't expect you to say."

"We'll be sitting ducks," Bucky argued.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying you should hole up in Stark Tower or get a room at The Ritz. That's too obvious."

"What's the alternative?"

She paused for a moment, turning her head minutely, and looked toward the curtain leading to the bathroom and bedroom. Seeming to come to some conclusion, she said, "I have a house in Brooklyn; it's on the Jamaica Bay Shoreline. If we want to avoid the roads, we can leave the air strip and take a boat in."

"If we get Tasha and the others to meet us at the air strip, we can do a switch," Clint suggested. "If they've got eyes out for us, they'll think we're doing a pick-up, that we're going somewhere else to figure things out. Lay low."

Steve nodded. "We switch clothes with the ground crew; they stay on the jet while we walk away unseen. Keep up appearances, just in case. Go our separate ways, either take a boat in or drive. Reconvene at the house."

"You're sure nobody knows about this house of yours?" Bucky wondered, staring at Darcy.

"It's not under any of my known aliases. Nobody knows about it; not anybody that would be a problem for us."

"Not anybody means _somebody_," Bucky argued.

"The dead don't speak," she answered darkly. "The last owner is currently floating in the bay outside the house. You can drag her up if you want, but I don't think she'll be up for conversation."

He pursed his lips at her, still looking ready, even eager, for a fight.

"All right," Steve intervened. "The house it is. Clint, call Natasha, tell her to get in contact with Stark, fill him in."

Clint nodded and stood from his seat, making his way to the kitchenette for privacy.

"Darcy." Steve turned to face her. "You need to talk to whoever it is you go through for ground crews. You said they changed out every time. You have to have someone who organizes that for you. Can you get them on board with this?"

She nodded, tearing her eyes off of Bucky to meet his. "I'll make the call. They'll come through."

"Good." He stared at her a long moment. "I know this is difficult. You're inviting us into a part of your life you probably keep very quiet."

"I don't go there as often as I used to. You could say I inherited it."

"Is that what it is when you off the previous owner?" Bucky scoffed.

Darcy's eyes narrowed as she turned to face him once more, her shoulders tight.

Steve let out a heavy sigh, wondering if the two of them would be fighting like this a lot.

"You're right. I did kill her," she told him simply.

Both Steve and Bucky stared at her, waiting for an explanation.

"Oh, I'm sorry, is this the part where I express regret?" Darcy looked between them, an eyebrow raised. "Did you want me to spill my sob story and beg for absolution for my crimes? Because if you're waiting for that, I wouldn't hold my breath."

"So, that's it, huh? You kill and you don't feel any remorse?" Bucky asked, shaking his head faintly.

"Let's get something straight. You and I are very different. You had your memory wiped and you were forced to follow Pierce and his lackeys like an obedient dog. You were a puppet that he made dance however he pleased." She wiggled her fingers for emphasis. "I have no leash. No one calls the shots but me. I knew exactly what I was doing when I did it. So, what do you want to hear, huh? That I cried myself to sleep the first time I killed? That I threw up in the dirt and asked myself who I was? Sure. I did. I was twenty-one years old. I'd never hurt anyone before in my life. And then things changed. _I _changed. And I learned that being the one with the gun was a _lot_ better than having it turned on you. So _no_, I don't feel bad about who I've killed. And I sure as fuck don't give a shit about the woman rotting away at the bottom of Mill Basin. She shot first. I shot last. End of story."

Bucky was grinding his teeth, but Steve didn't think it was Darcy he was angry at. Because, as much as he wasn't sure he agreed with everything she was saying, it was more the actions themselves that tied too closely to Bucky's own story that was setting him off. But she was different from Bucky. He'd been controlled, forced into being an assassin, used as a weapon without his consent. Darcy said it wasn't like that for her, but Steve thought maybe even _she_ didn't completely understand how she found herself in this life. She hadn't always been this person, she'd said so herself. And if she'd had such a troubled reaction to her life changing, to being the one with the gun, then why did she stick with it?

He wanted to ask, he wanted to pick a part all of her pieces and put together the puzzle, but he didn't think she'd be willing to answer, especially not with Bucky there.

Clint ducked back into the room again, announcing, "Natasha said she'll get Stark and Banner on board and meet as the strip. So we're a go on this end."

Darcy stood from her seat on the couch. "I'll call the ground crew," she said, passing by Clint and the others to use the kitchenette for quiet.

Steve watched her go, her steps stiff and her shoulders tensed. He frowned, his brow furrowed. And then he felt something soft brush his hand. He looked down and found her cat staring up at him. It nuzzled its head against his leg and then stood up on its hind legs, pressing its front paws to his knee, stretching up, tail swishing.

"Looks like you made a new friend, Cap," Clint said, retaking his seat.

"He's on a roll," Bucky muttered drolly.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. "I know you don't like her—"

"I don't trust her. And you trust her too much."

"She hasn't given me a reason not to."

"What do you need? A knife in your back?" Scoffing, Bucky shook his head. "You're playing with fire here."

"So what if I am." He leaned back on the couch and pursed his lips, watching as Darcy's grey cat hopped up and stood in his lap. It turned around in two circles, kneading, nails catching on his pants, before laying down, looking up at him expectantly. He reached for it and ran a hand down its back, scratching between its ears. Purring, it leaned into his touch happily, rubbing its head into his fingers and turning over onto its back, belly stretched up for him.

"You know I'll follow you into whatever's going on here. You want to take on HYDRA and SHIELD, I'll have your back. But don't let your dick call the shots here," Bucky told him, standing then and making his way in the opposite direction of Darcy, thrusting the curtain back and pushing the bathroom door open, disappearing inside.

Steve frowned after him before his gaze wandered back to Clint, expecting some kind of commentary.

Clint raised his hands, shrugging. "Hey, I'm not in any place to judge."

Steve sighed, nodding faintly, and refocused on the cat, petting its soft fur.

When Darcy returned, she told them shortly, "Ground crew's on board. They have their instructions." She started past them toward the back. "I'm going to get a few hours sleep. I have a feeling I'm going to need it when I've got your whole team to play firing squad."

Steve shook his head. "Darcy…"

She looked back at him over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "Don't say anything you don't mean, Captain. We assassins appreciate honesty." She turned and continued to the back bedroom, leaving him to stare after her, frustrated. It didn't make sense, that part of him that wanted to explain, to tell her it wasn't her that was setting Bucky off, but what she did, what she was tied to. He shouldn't have to explain. He shouldn't feel the need to make her feel better. This was her life, and it was incredibly different from his own. This attraction between them, he could already see it was going to end badly. And what was he expecting out of it anyway? Sex? Passionate but short-lived. If that was all it was, then why was he lapping up every scrap of information she gave him on herself? Why was he so damn desperate to understand her and why she was the way she was? Why did he want to know who she was before she became who he knew?

It was only Clint's chuckling that finally drew his eye.

He raised an eyebrow at his teammate, wanting in on the joke.

Clint shook his head. "Quite a girl you got there, Cap."

"Yeah," he muttered.

Quite frustrating. Quite confusing. Quite complicated.

And it only made him more determined to figure her out.


	6. Chapter 6

**fic**: I don't want your money, I don't want your crown (see, I've come to burn your kingdom down)  
><strong>category<strong>: thor/captain america/avengers  
><strong>genre<strong>: humor/action/romance  
><strong>chapter rating<strong>: r (violence)**  
>overall rating<strong>: nc-17 (eventual explicit sex)**  
>ship<strong>: darcy/steve  
><strong>summary<strong>: When Steve is sent in to apprehend the extremely skilled assassin, Darcy Lewis, he finds more than he bargained for, and a very unexpected ally in the process.

**[6]**

Natasha blew out an irritated breath, her eyes narrowing. "I already told you what I know. The rest will have to be explained when we get there."

"What about Pepper?" Tony demanded. "We can't leave her an open target."

"I already talked to Happy," she told him. "He and Rhodey are taking care of Pepper. For now, I need you to concentrate. Pepper will be fine. We have bigger problems to deal with."

"You said this… Lewis, was it? You said you knew her," Bruce said, readjusting his glasses as he looked at her from where he sat behind the passenger seat.

She nodded shortly. "I do."

"And would that be before or after you left the KGB, because I've recently come into some trust issues," Tony snarked mockingly.

Natasha sighed, glaring at him through the mirror. "She's a freelance assassin; she has no ties to any country, agency, or government. I met her shortly after I was brought in to SHIELD. We had an… overlap of jobs."

They stared at her, brows hiked, waiting for more.

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter how I know her. What matters is that she has information we need, and she's skilled enough to help us use that information. If what she and Steve are saying is right, then we have a serious problem at SHIELD, and I don't know how far it goes." She ground her teeth, a stab of betrayal spreading through her. She had trusted them; she'd signed on with them thinking that she was finally where she belonged, that she could make up for the red in her ledger by working for the other team, the good team. She could have laughed at her own naiveté. She'd thought she had none and now she knew different.

While Bruce and Tony bickered about who, of SHIELD, they thought were HYDRA, a mostly one-sided character assassination by Tony, Natasha focused on the road, her hand flexing on the steering wheel.

She hadn't seen Darcy in nearly two years; it wasn't as if they had girls' night's together and talked shop over drinks once a week. She hesitated to call Darcy a friend; but then, she hesitated to call anyone a friend. There were too many expectations from friendship; too many ways for a person to be betrayed, and they'd each had their fair share of betrayal in their lives. They didn't want anymore.

But when Natasha had met Darcy, six years ago, for just a second she saw something in her, something familiar.

She was in Kiev on a job for SHIELD, one of the first she'd ever done for them; a get in, get the information, get out. What she hadn't known was that the guy she was stealing information on had a hit on him, and his assassin had chosen the same night as Natasha to infiltrate and take him out. Unfortunately for her, Natasha had tripped the silent alarm in the safe when she was raiding the contents. She made it just outside of the office and walked straight into a fight, six guards against her. For the record, she'd been handling herself just fine. For the most part, she was knocking them out; killing them wasn't off the table, but it wasn't the objective. She had the choice; to kill or to let them live. As long as they were out of her way, that was all she cared about. Maybe a part of the reason she wasn't at her best was because of the choice; that was what made her pause with each attack, too aware of herself and the damage she could do. At the time, she'd been new to SHIELD, trying to prove herself, trying to show she wasn't just a killer, but a skilled agent. She'd killed so many in the past and she wanted her life to be different.

Hesitation caused mistakes. She took a knife to her leg, planted deep in her thigh, and a hit to the jaw that sent her to the ground. She wasn't done; she had her own knife, a full magazine in her gun, but after she dealt with the remaining guard, it would make escaping a lot more difficult.

And then he stepped back, out of reach, and raised his own gun, grinning at her savagely, his teeth painted with blood from a shot she'd given him, knocking two teeth out.

She hated it when they took the coward's way out; when they chose to shoot from afar instead of engage her. Knife wound or not, she could take him.

But just as his finger twitched toward the trigger, she heard the snap-bang from above.

Natasha's chin raised, searching out who took the shot, expecting Clint to have followed her, but she found no one, no sign of a shooter. Her gaze returned to the guard, watching blood bloom around a hole centered in his forehead. His mouth had fallen open in shocked pain, and then he fell to the ground, dead.

It wouldn't be long now; distantly, she could hear hollering and shouting and she knew the other guards were on their way. This job was supposed to be easy; next time she'd just seduce the asshole into his office and get him to open the safe before she knocked him out and slipped away with no one the wiser. Clean and simple. If she'd had more time, that was exactly what she would have done; instead, she'd gone in to prove herself, and in doing so, made mistakes.

Pushing herself up to her feet, she gritted her teeth when pain lanced up from her leg, blood pouring down her thigh. She was panting with the effort, her lip curled in a defiant snarl.

Whatever came around that corner, she was prepared for it. If she went down fighting, then fine, but she wouldn't lay down and let them have her. As stubborn as she was, however, she was losing blood, and a lot of it, if the way her eyes were growing hazy was any sign.

There was a noise behind her and her head whirled abruptly; she blinked quickly against the dizzy spell that hit her.

A woman was kneeling on the ground, long dark hair tied back in an elegant French braid. She was going through the folders Natasha had pulled from the safe and dropped to the floor when she'd had to fight her way out. Natasha raised her gun, aiming it for her, and clucked her tongue. In Russian, she asked, "Didn't anybody tell you not to touch other people's stolen goods?"

The Woman's lips curled faintly and she looked up at her, arching an eyebrow. "Where's the fun in that?" While she spoke in Russian, it was obvious it wasn't her native tongue; Natasha filed that piece of information away.

The Woman stood slowly then, keeping her hands where Natasha could see them. "Listen, we seem to be after the same person. Admittedly, what you're after is a little different from what I'm aiming for, but we don't have a conflict of interest here." She jutted her chin down to the recently sniped man on the floor. "Call it a sign of good faith."

Natasha glanced briefly at the body and then back to The Woman. Early twenties, average height, and trained; very well trained. It wasn't just the headshot that proved it to her, either. It was the way the other woman stood, seemingly relaxed when really, every muscle in her body was coiled, expecting and ready for an attack. She was dangerous; Natasha could recognize that from a mile away. But there was something else, something about her that was eerily familiar, and she just couldn't put her finger on it.

Natasha's head tipped as she listened to the oncoming swarm of guards. "Neither of us are going to get him if those guys catch us first…"

"Hate to break it to you, sister, but you're not much help right now with that knife wound," Darcy pointed out.

"I can still shoot, and if I have to fight, I can." Natasha raised her head proudly. "It would be smart not to underestimate me."

She gave Natasha a look over and then nodded, stepping forward, over the fallen body without so much as blinking, and then moved in front of Natasha, toward the doorway. "Fine. But don't get in my way." With that, she unclipped a grenade from a loop on her jeans, pulled the pin, and threw it around the corner, down the hallway.

There was yelling before the blast took out a wall and everybody behind it.

Fire licked at the ceiling and floor, debris exploding forward to riddle the ground, and smoke began to cloud the area.

Natasha waited, tensed, her eyes darting, searching for any sign of movement, to see who might come out of the wreckage.

It was quiet, too quiet, for a few seconds. Seconds that dragged on for what felt like hours, and then, those who lived emerged, some a little battered from the explosion, others lucky enough to have been at the back of the pack, leaving them untouched.

It was chaos after that. Natasha started shooting, hitting anything that moved, while The Woman jumped into the fray, giving them no pause before she attacked. She kicked herself off the remaining chunk of wall, grabbed one man by the neck, and used him to swing herself around, kicking another in the face. Cracking the neck of the man she held by the head, she leapt off him and pulled a knife loose to take on another. She was bloodthirsty and beautiful. She moved like music guided her every step, her every lunging kick and swinging hand. Men came and fell, reaching, swinging, swiping at her with knives, raising guns, and she never slowed. The carnage was absolute. She left them laying on the ground, collapsed atop each other, and then she turned back to Natasha, who'd shot at anyone who raised a gun, reloading twice before she ran out of ammo, and then she'd raised her knife, pulling the one from her leg as a back-up, and gutted the few that got too close.

Walking back toward Natasha, the woman stripped her jacket off as she went, revealing two knives crossed over her stomach and two holstered guns against her ribs. She took a knee in front of Natasha, tearing off the bottom of her shirt, and tied it around Natasha's thigh, just above the knife wound, knotting it tight before she stood. "You'll bleed out long before you can get out of here on your own," she told Natasha before she looped an arm around her waist and dragged her away, down a hallway off from the office.

"Wait. I need the folders," Natasha said, stumbling as she tried to turn back.

The Woman shook her head. "You won't need them, trust me."

Natasha blamed it on blood loss, why it took her entirely too long to catch up. "You're here to kill him."

"Bullseye," she said, lapsing into English, and winked at Natasha as she continued helping her down the hall. "You have someone you can call? Someone who can come pick you up while I finish up here?"

Clint. The name came easily, quickly, and she almost felt ashamed for it. There was too much trust there already, she knew, but some part of her couldn't help it. She trusted him. He should have been with her in the first place, but she had wanted to prove herself. She was used to working alone; moving in the shadows, attacking and killing before anybody had a chance to feel her presence. But SHIELD demanded teamwork, partners, and Clint was supposed to be hers.

"Call them," The Woman told her.

Natasha nodded, wincing as they swung through a door leading into the kitchen.

"I have to hide you. Tell your partner you're in the pantry in the kitchen, south side of the house. His best chance for getting inside is the roof; there's a balcony leading into the main bedroom. He can come down the back stairs and it'll lead him right to you."

As much as it shamed her, Natasha realized her feet were barely moving; the majority of her weight was leaning on this stranger, an admitted assassin. The irony wasn't lost on her that her life was in the hands of a fellow killer.

Carefully, she placed Natasha on the ground with her back against a shelf of canned goods.

"How's your gun?"

"Empty," Natasha answered, her tongue feeling too thick for her mouth.

Pulling one from her holster, The Woman handed it over. "I don't know how many are left in the house."

As she stood, Natasha frowned. She shook her head faintly, staring up at the woman, sweat dotting her brow. "Why are you helping me?"

She shrugged, backing up to leave. "You're not part of the job."

"Wait. I… didn't catch your name." Natasha swallowed thickly, watching her as her head fell back to lean on the shelf.

She snorted. "I'm not in the business of sharing that with just anyone."

Natasha stared up at her. "If I live through this, I'll owe you. I'd prefer to know who I owe my life to."

The Woman stared at her a long moment, her lips pursed, and then she said, simply, shortly. "Darcy."

Nodding briskly, she offered in return, "Natasha."

Darcy smiled faintly and then pulled her other gun. With a salute, she said, "Good luck, Natasha." And then she was off, going to finish the job, closing the pantry door behind her.

Natasha reached into the pocket of her pants, wincing as she had to lean, her leg throbbing with pain. She pulled out her phone and rubbed a finger over the screen before she hit 1 on her speed dial.

It rang twice before Clint answered gruffly, "Where are you? I'm in the house."

"Kitchen pantry. South side. I've been hit and it's… not great."

He cursed under his breath. "This is why we go together."

She closed her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh.

"I'm coming. Keep your eyes open."

A click followed as he hung up. He was pissed; he had every right to be. It was foolish of her. She wasn't usually so reckless, and she wouldn't be again. If anything, this only reminded her how important it was that she stay in control, stay focused. She thought of Darcy, of how she'd walked in, fearless, ready to take on whatever came, and she realized why she'd seemed so familiar; Darcy was her. Who Natasha had been before she'd had a personality crisis. She wasn't KGB anymore, but if she was going to be SHIELD then she had to figure out where she fit. She'd joined SHIELD for a chance at some kind of redemption, to wipe the ledger clean, but in order for that to work, she needed to trust her partner.

When the door swung open, she was sitting in a pool of her own blood, struggling to breathe, but she still got her gun up, even if her hand shook. Her eyes cleared enough to see that it was Clint, and she only let herself relax when he picked her up and carried her away, promising her she'd be okay, that he had her. Her eyes closed. Trust. Maybe she really could do this.

Blinking away the memory, Natasha focused on the road ahead, glancing briefly at the astrophysicist beside her. She hadn't planned on bringing Foster, but she might be the only chance they had at getting in contact with Thor. And her teammate would never forgive her if Jane was left behind in the chaos of everything. Unlike the chatty Tony and the indulgent Bruce, Jane stayed quiet, her gaze set out the window, brow furrowed in thought.

"We're almost there," Natasha said, drawing their attention. "Everybody knows the plan?"

"Board the jet, trade clothes with the ground crew, walk out, look busy, and then find our way to the house," Bruce said. "Are we commandeering the ground crew's cars? It's not as if they'll need them for a while, since they're going on an extended vacation to parts unknown…"

Natasha shrugged. "I wasn't filled in on where they're going, only that they'll trade places with us."

"How do we know we can trust them?" Jane wondered, frowning.

Natasha shook her head. "We don't. But even if they talk, they won't know where we're going, only that we didn't get on the jet. SHIELD won't expect us to stay in the city. It's too close."

"Which is why the smart idea would be to get out…" Tony offered.

"Well, I'd suggest Malibu but somebody got their house blown up," Natasha returned, arching an eyebrow back at him through the mirror.

He scoffed at her, tossing up a dismissive hand.

"No, she's right," Bruce said. "It does provide a problem though. If we take the cars the crew leave behind and they tell someone, or SHIELD figures it out, then they can trace the plates, follow us through the street cameras."

"So, we either trade out the plates or hack into the street cameras…" Tony's eyes darted thoughtfully. "I could get JARVIS to cover our tracks."

"He'd have to knock out cameras all over or they could just follow the cameras that weren't working and still work out our position," Jane said, turning in her seat to see them.

Tony nodded. "A blackout on cameras, for an hour, maybe longer, to make them think we've gone farther than we have."

Bruce nodded. "It could work."

"Do it," Natasha told him.

* * *

><p>Steve was staring; he knew he was staring, but he couldn't manage to pull his eyes away.<p>

Darcy was pulling her gun holster on over her shoulders, clipping it together just under her breasts and smoothing out her shirt before she pulled on her jacket to cover everything. She had a knife stuck into a sheath on the back of her jeans, lengthwise along the belt. Seeing a woman load up on weapons shouldn't have been a turn on. Not when he knew what she used those weapons for on a regular basis. But that didn't stop his mouth from going dry as he considered where else she might have stashed a few knives; hugged around her thighs like the needles had been or running the length of her calf, strapped to her ankle. How many would he find if he started stripping away clothes; courting death as he reached, ever closer, for pleasure.

[Ready?] she signed to Stasiya.

Stasiya nodded back at her, readjusting her boot, where a knife was hidden, and zipping up her red leather jacket to hide the waist holster she wore across her stomach, delicate but deadly throwing knives tucked into the pockets. Steve was fairly sure it said a lot about him and the situation that seeing Stasiya dressed in weapons had no effect except the understanding that she was prepared and capable of defending herself.

"Expecting a war when the door opens?" Clint wondered as he sat in one of the chairs, eating a bowl of grapes he'd found in the kitchenette fridge. He tossed them in the air and caught them in his mouth, looking completely relaxed, especially in comparison to the rest of them.

Bucky sat the farthest from them; he was on guard, his back straight and his hands on his knees, poised for any kind of attack.

Steve too was feeling anxious; so many things could go wrong. SHIELD could already be waiting for them, could have already gotten to Natasha or the others while they were en route. And what could they do then? They couldn't surrender, but they couldn't leave their teammates to rot inside SHIELD as hostages, possibly, and likely, made out to be traitors. But they had a duty to do what was right, to bring down HYDRA before it could bring down the world. He was getting ahead of himself, expecting things before he knew if they'd happened or not.

"I'm guessing you weren't a boy scout," Darcy mused. "Always be prepared." Despite her words, she leaned back in her chair, looking the picture of relaxed, crossing her legs at the knee, her dark red heel tapping absently.

Steve stared at her shoe and followed it up the length of her leg. He blinked and tore his gaze away, turning it instead to the door. This was really no time to get distracted.

"Everybody knows what they're doing?" he asked, turning his head so Stasiya could read his lips.

She stared at him a long moment and then looked to Darcy. [Are you sure about this? We still have time to get away.]

Darcy met her gaze and held it. [Trust me.]

While Stasiya's lips pursed, she nodded.

"Tasha's here," Clint said suddenly, turning his head to look out the window. "She's got Stark and Banner… And Foster."

The pilot, an older gentleman with silver-streaked hair, came out from the cockpit then and opened the door, letting the stairs down.

Darcy walked over to meet him, shaking his hand. Steve listened in as she spoke to him in Czech, informing him that his money had already been transferred into his account and a first class ticket home was waiting for him at JFK.

He nodded at her and left without asking questions.

Darcy returned to stand beside Stasiya, her hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, and then Natasha and the others were climbing the stairs to join them inside.

Steve watched, curiously, to see how the two women would greet each other.

Natasha was at the forefront of the group, standing tall, chin lifted, when she spotted Darcy. For a moment, all was quiet, tense, as they stepped up to each other, expressions carefully blank. Steve remembered that they each had expressed respect for each other, but not trust nor friendship. And he wondered suddenly, just what their relationship was like.

And then Natasha's mouth slowly curved up into a smile. "Is this the Lost and Found?"

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "Depends on what you lost."

"Three soldiers with more balls than brains," she answered with a snort.

Darcy snorted. "They're definitely that. What'll you trade me for them?"

Natasha shook her head and raised a hand for her to shake. "Why don't we work out the details later? It looks like we'll have our hands full for a while."

"I'll hold you to that." Darcy took her hand and held on. "It's been a while…"

Natasha stared up at her, saying sincerely, "Слишком долго." (Too long)

With a flair of drama, Darcy answered, "Вы никогда не называют. Никогда не пишите. Что делать девушке?" (You never call. Never write. What's a girl to do?)

Scoffing, Natasha teased, "Похищение национальное достояние, это хорошее начало." (Abduction of a national treasure, it's a good start.)

Darcy laughed shamelessly, her head falling back. "Is it wrong if he likes it?"

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head.

Steve's attention bounced between them, watching the sincerity flood through them, pushing away yet another string of the doubt that remained about who Darcy was. It took a lot to gain Natasha's respect and it was clear, from what he was seeing, that it ran deep for both of them.

Tony cleared his throat then, calling attention to him instead. "If you two are done, I need to share something with the class."

Natasha and Darcy broke apart, standing shoulder to shoulder, and Steve couldn't help but think that the two of them would be a terrifying duo.

"Stark came up with a plan to have JARVIS wipe out the street cameras for us, making it easier for us to travel from here to Darcy's safe house," Natasha informed them. "He can't guarantee there won't be private footage, especially on the airstrip, so I still suggest we use the ground crew as cover, but now we won't have to worry as much about traveling to the house."

"Some of us are going in on boat," Darcy piped up. "When we separate, I'll take Stasiya and Cap with me. I have someone waiting for us at the docks."

Natasha nodded. "Clint, you take Stark and Banner with you. You have the address?"

He nodded.

"Transportation?"

"If we take the car back in, it'll look suspicious," Bruce said, frowning.

"I called in a favor; there are three cars in the hangar with scrubbed licence plates. The ground crew drove them in," Darcy told them. "If we linger at the strip for a while, make it look like we're busy, and then head into the hangar and go our separate ways, nothing will look out of place. Just the end of another job."

Steve nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"On the off-chance that any of get pinched, what then?" Clint wondered, looking around at each of them.

"We prioritize the mission," Steve answered, lifting his chin. "As much as any of us would want to help each other, we have a time sensitive situation on our hands and we can't afford to lose ground or to risk getting too close to SHIELD until we're ready." He looked around at the sober faces staring back at him. "That doesn't mean we won't come for you, but…"

"How about 'don't get caught,'" Darcy said, her voice straightforward. "The next time I'm on SHIELD property, I'm burning it to the ground. So try not to be inside at the time."

Stasiya grinned at her.

"Who's the quiet one? Why didn't we get introductions?" Tony suddenly piped up. "Which one's the assassin? I mean, I can take an educated guess that it's Top Heavy, but…"

Darcy's eyes cut toward him, frigid with warning. "I can kill you three different ways from where I'm standing before any of your friends blink…" She raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to play this game with me?"

"Depends," he blustered, raising his chin. "What do I get if I win?"

Her mouth tipped up at the corner. "You won't."

He stared at her a long moment and then turned to tell his team, "All right. I vote Kill Bill off the island. We already have two assassins. We don't need another one."

"Vetoed," Steve sighed, rolling his eyes upward. "Stark, this is Darcy, who is, yes, an assassin, and also the only reason any of us know what's happening right now." He motioned beside her. "This is Stasiya. She speaks sign language and reads lips. Take it into consideration… Stasiya, Darcy, this is Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, and Jane Foster."

With some difficulty, Bruce politely signed [Nice to meet you.]

Stasiya's lips twitched faintly and she looked to Darcy to sign, much quicker than Steve suspected Bruce could keep up with, before thrusting her chin forward to Dr. Banner.

Darcy nodded and translated for him, "She said it'd be nicer if the circumstances were different."

Bruce half-smiled nodding. [Agreed]

Before they could continue the conversation, however, one of the ground crew workers entered the hull, carrying a box of garbage bags with him. Steve glanced around the group, all looking far more focused now, and then turned to the worker, who was already beginning to undress out of his uniform.

It was time. He took a deep breath and hoped that everything went smoothly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>:

_Thank you all so, so much for your comments on the last chapter. I was getting a little worried there that maybe my frequent updates were too much or that people weren't as interested with each new chapter. So it's encouraging to hear different!_

_On the subject of Natasha for this chapter, I do want to say that I wrote her in this particular instance as trying very hard to prove herself, so she went into a situation feeling like she needed to be someone other than who she was. She questioned her actions and whether they, or she, fit with SHIELD, and that caused her to make mistakes. It wasn't to point out flaws or mistakes or that she wasn't as skilled as Darcy, because she is absolutely skilled; it was that she didn't trust herself. At that point in time, she had only just joined SHIELD and she was feeling uncomfortable in her own skin, whereas Darcy was the opposite and actually felt like she was in her element, and this is what I was trying to show when Natasha watched her fight and recognized herself in her. I think it would make sense for Natasha to second guess herself when leaving one faction for the other, because who wouldn't question what skills and abilities could be transferred over to her new place as a SHIELD agent when her new and old jobs were supposed to be opposites? Anyway, I hope I didn't make it seem like Natasha wasn't capable, because that wasn't my intention at all. Only that it was plausible for her to have gotten into a difficult situation where Darcy could help her out and earn her trust._

_Thank you for reading and please leave a comment?_

- **Lee | Fina **


	7. Chapter 7

**[7]**

Darcy didn't notice it at first. She would gladly blame it on the fact that she wasn't used to having quite so many people around her, especially those that didn't trust her. She couldn't blame them, really. She was an assassin hired to kill one of their teammates; she wouldn't be quick to offer 'welcome to the club' handshakes either. But it was distracting and it had her hackles up. Which was why it took her so long to notice that the ground crew member currently dressing down for them was sweating. And not in a 'geez, that suit sure was hot' kind of way either. His eyes were darting around with obvious nerves and his fingers were flexing.

That was the last warning she got.

Well, that and Steve's split-second shout of her name. "_Darcy_!"

She would like it on the record, however; she absolutely saw it coming before Rogers did.

The arm that was arcing toward her had a long, lethal hunting knife clenched in its fingers; it swiped close, narrowly missing her neck. But she leaned back just in time and reached for him as his arm passed her by. She cupped one hand behind his elbow and wrapped her other around his wrist, stabbed her heel down into his instep, twisted his arm, and forced him to sink his knife into his own shoulder. While he cried out, she slammed her elbow back into his face and felt the satisfying crunch of cartilage under impact. Turning her arm back, she wrapped it around his neck, brought her knee up against his side, and turned him backward, chest arched up, his face turning red as he choked under the pressure of her arm.

While he struggled to get air and pulled at her arm desperately, she tore the knife from his shoulder and wiped the blood on his shirt as she raised an eyebrow at him.

Gritting his teeth back at her, he snarled, "Hail HYDRA."

Darcy's lip curled with a sneer. "_Fuck _HYDRA," she replied before twisting her arm and snapping his neck.

His body fell to flood with a thud, limp and useless.

All went quiet for a heartbeat, and then—

"Great. _See_, this is why we have too many assassins. Nobody thinks about asking questions afterwards. You don't think we might've been able to get something out of him before Eager to Kill took offense?" Stark rambled.

Darcy ignored him, instead twisting the knife in her grip for a moment, taking a deep breath as she weighed her options for a moment. Mouth set grimly, she raised her chin and cast her eyes around the room.

Natasha was standing nearby, her chin raised, gun out as she waited for another attack.

Darcy bypassed her in search of Stasiya, who stepped out from where she stood beside Barton. Darcy stared at her a moment and then nodded.

Mouth set in a line, Stasiya turned, quickly walking to a panel on the wall. She pressed down until it popped open and then plugged in the four-digit code. The marble shelving that lined the jet interior gave a hiss of air pressure before they unlocked and began to rise, showing a lit up armory of guns, knives, and explosives, showcased by the pale blue panels of light behind them.

While Stasiya started handing out guns to anybody with hands, Darcy crossed the jet, walking past the still protesting Stark, who was squawking about being the only one worried about her intentions. Making her way into the bedroom, she knelt down and dug under the bed, pulling out two go-bags. She put them on the bed and looked through each of them, making sure they had everything they would need. Satisfied, she pulled the straps over her shoulder and left the room, rejoining the group. Banner was nodding along to Stark, who was stage-whispering to him angrily.

Barnes had moved closer to Rogers, his guns out and his back tense. His eyes were darting, taking in every weapon, every inch of the room. This was the Winter Soldier she'd heard so much about. He'd been a legend in her line of work; at least until he'd gone rogue after Rogers and company raided a facility and found the frozen soldier-pop. Dethawed and deprogrammed, now he was battle-ready for the Avengers, but those skills were still ingrained, she could see it in every fierce line of him.

When he turned his eyes toward her, she saw nothing but ice and war.

Turning her attention to Stasiya, who was standing by the door, peering out at the tarmac, she signed to her in Russian, [How many?]

Stasiya's lips turned down in an angry frown. [Four trucks.]

As if they knew they were being talked about, the crackling of a megaphone could be heard before a distinct voice could be heard. _Rumlow_. "Captain Rogers and company, by order of SHIELD you are all to exit the jet. You will be brought in for questioning _immediately_. If you comply willingly, there will be no casualties here today."

Darcy let out a snort before she turned, handing one bag off to Rogers, who instinctively caught it, tearing his attention off the body on the floor.

The other bag, she handed to Natasha. "There's an emergency exit at the back of the jet. When you see the signal, you'll go out through there, make your way to the warehouse, take the cars." Darcy pivoted, her eyes searching for and eventually finding a pen. She grabbed it up and turned to Natasha, taking her arm to write on. "This is the address to my house and the security code to get in. Activate Stark's black out, lay low, make a plan. Do you understand?"

Natasha stared at her a long moment, searching her eyes, her brow furrowed. Finally, she nodded, short and absolute.

Darcy left her then, intending to walk back to Stasiya, but Rogers caught her, a hand gripped tight around her bicep. "What are you planning?" he asked, staring down at her, his jaw clenched tightly.

She half-smiled up at him. "You heard Rumlow. He's not just calling you out, Cap. Consider me 'and company.'"

He frowned down at her, shaking his head. "You can't go out there."

"On the contrary, I can do anything I want. Stasiya and I will provide the distraction. You and yours will take the opportunity I'm giving you here." She tugged her arm free of his hand and turned to face him properly. "I told you I'd help you with Rumlow. Looks like my end of the bargain isn't finished yet."

"Darcy, if you go out there, he's going to kill you…" He stabbed a finger toward the door. "He could shoot you before your feet even hit the ground. What are you _thinking?_"

Mouth screwed up with agitation, Darcy stood a little taller. "I'm thinking we have limited options here. I'm the one that called someone I thought I could trust. I was wrong, and now we have Rumlow waiting to take the whole damn Avengers team into custody. Which, by the way, is not going to end in any kind of fair trial, so don't get too self-righteous yet… You're right, it's a firing squad, and you'll be getting a headshot as soon as your darken that doorway, so don't pull the Red, White and Blue wool over my eyes here. You need an out. I'm giving you one." She slapped a hand against his chest and sneered, "Say thank you," before walking right past him to Stasiya.

He let out a heavy breath, calling her name again; the "this isn't over" was obvious enough. But she ignored him; here, in this situation, on her jet, he wasn't the captain. She was in charge of her life, and she wouldn't have him trying to talk her out of anything. Her mind was made.

Stasiya lifted her chin proudly and met Darcy's eyes.

Darcy took a deep breath then, letting her anger with Rogers and the situation roll off her back. She needed to be calm, rational, logical. [You'll stay behind me at all times] she signed to Stasiya in Russian. [If I get shot, what do you do?]

Stasiya swallowed tightly, casting her eyes away for a moment. She shook her head minutely.

Darcy caught her chin and raised it once more, drawing her eyes back to hers. Her hands signed again, more determined now, [What do you do?]

A muscle ticked in Stasiya's cheek, but she final replied [I use you as a shield and get to safety.] She pursed her lips and shakily signed [I leave you behind.]

[That's right. You don't hesitate. Not for a minute. Okay?] She stared at Stasiya searchingly, waiting for her nod, and then she reached for her, a hand tucked behind Stasiya's neck, and brought her forward, their foreheads pressed together for a moment. Taking a deep breath, Darcy gave herself just a second longer, and then she released her friend, and she turned back to the grim looking group behind her.

Stark was quiet now, his brow furrowed, standing with Banner still. Had he finally caught on or just run out of steam? She didn't bother asking.

Barton had his bow in hand, fingers drawing the string only to release the tension again, his feet shifting, anticipating action.

Barnes stood at Rogers' back, watching from the corners of his eyes, his hand flexing on his gun. Darcy looked past him to where Foster, the scientist, sat beside the cat carrier, looking tiny and completely out of her element.

Darcy stared at her a long moment, reminded, briefly, of herself, what seemed like a lifetime ago, long before she'd become the woman she now was. To Foster, she said, "Her name is Pond. She's low maintenance. Keep an eye on her for me, will you?"

Startled, Foster looked up at her, nodding jerkily. "I, yeah, yes, of course."

Darcy nodded shortly and then turned back to Stasiya. She reached into the weapons cache and grabbed out two canisters, handing them over to Stasiya before she moved past her toward the door.

Rumlow's voice reached out to them again. "Captain Rogers, if you won't leave the jet, we will be forced to take drastic measures…"

"And that's my cue." Darcy readjusted her jacket, hands smoothing over her guns at her ribs and her knife at her back, each of which were covered from view.

Stasiya stepped up behind her, hands tucked behind her back, canisters palmed and thumbs looped through the pins. She gave Darcy a nod and tipped her chin up.

Darcy reached for the handle on the door, but Rogers was suddenly there, his hand covering hers.

"Don't do this."

She followed his arm up, staring at his shoulder a long moment.

"We can come up with another plan."

"We don't have time for another plan," she told him simply. She raised her eyes to meet his, the expression on his face conflicted. She offered a lopsided smile. "Don't count me out yet, Cap. I happen to be a fantastic negotiator."

He stared at her a moment, his gaze falling to the floor. "I remember," he said, his voice heavy.

She grinned at him, pressed a hand to his chest so he would step back, out of sight, and then turned the handle. "Keep your head down," she said, before swinging the door open and raising her arms, threading her fingers behind her head. "Good luck." With that, she stepped forward onto the stairs.

As much as it felt like walking out to meet her death, not a single bullet was fired. Releasing a shaky breath, she walked down the stairs, her stomach twisted up tight and her heart hammering in her chest.

Stasiya stayed close, keeping at her back like she knew to.

They crossed the tarmac toward Rumlow, standing in front of four lined up SUV's, various agents waiting at his back, some crouched low while others had their guns set up on the hood of the trucks. They were all armed, focused on the jet and waiting for the signal to fire.

"Long time no see," Darcy called, swaying her hips a little the closer she got to them. "Not the reunion dreams are made of. For most anyway. Personally, I like a little gun play."

Rumlow glared at her, grinding his teeth. "We had a deal, Lewis. You broke that."

"What can I say…?" She shrugged. "Never put your money on an assassin. They're such finicky people."

"Yeah?" he scoffed. "Not much to be finicky about when you're dead."

Pretending he hadn't spoken at all, which was her general MO around men she couldn't stand, she continued, "Take me for example. I, despite all proof pointing to the contrary, do value something above money… I know what you're thinking, but no, loyalty to the American flag isn't it, not even when it's painted on the _beautiful _piece of American history you hired me to kill… What I _do _value, however, is freedom. And if HYDRA's plan manages to get off the ground, well… Freedom won't be an option anymore, will it?"

She stared at him, an eyebrow arched. "So, forgive me for not doing your dirty work. It was a solid plan, really. Let's face it. You and yours couldn't take him out on your best day. So why not call in a professional; someone with a little more guts and a lot more talent. It would've been a solid A if you'd just done a little research beforehand… Not only would your kill-drones put me out of a job, but I'm not a big fan of the HYDRA code. And if you haven't noticed… I kill what I'm not a big fan of. Paid or not."

Rumlow took a few steps toward her, staring down at her with a sneer. "You and your little watchdog can bark all you want, but you failed at killing Rogers and now you've failed at saving him. You two are going to rot in a cell somewhere and they're going to be sacrificed for the greater good."

"I think we have different perspectives on what 'good' is." She grinned darkly before she flicked her fingers up.

Stasiya answered her signal; thrusting her arms out and releasing the canisters. They bounced on the ground twice, gas expelling from them quickly, a white cloud bursting forth from each of them, growing thick enough that nobody could see anything. Rumlow's team broke down into abrupt coughing fits while she held her breath as long as she could. Darcy pulled two needles from her hair and threw them in the direction of where she'd last seen two of the closest agents. Simultaneous cries told her she hit her marks. The quick-acting poison killed them almost instantly, a thud telling her they'd collapsed to the ground. Smoke crowded around everyone and everything.

The firing of guns allowed for patches of sight, signs of where people were. Darcy pulled her own guns from her ribs and fired back, ducking and weaving as she shoved Stasiya in the hopes that she would run out of range. Air burst out of her burning lungs, but she carefully only sucked in a little at a time, backing up to get out of the cloud's reach, squinting for any sign of who to shoot at.

She couldn't spot Rumlow; he'd disappeared as soon as the canisters burst. The cloud only grew bigger and Darcy and the gunfire more rapid, scattering across the pavement, kicking up gravel and hitting nothing of purpose. Sightless, they could only shoot and hope, struggling to breathe and see. She knew it wouldn't be long before Rumlow and his goons would climb into their trucks and back up out of the cloud to get perspective and some clean air. But the longer she distracted them, the longer the team had to get to safety.

The squeal of nearby tires could be heard before a car came to an abrupt stop beside her. She turned her head to find Rogers in a silver Acura that could do with some body work; Stasiya sat in the back seat, a go-bag in her lap. Rogers had apparently not bothered to turn the car around at all, reversing it right out of the garage until he was stopped beside her, his hands gripped tight around the steering wheel.

"Get in the car," he ordered.

She rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to say— _something_, she wasn't sure what. But his arm suddenly darted forward, gun in hand, and fired three shots, killing what would have been her attempted attacker. She stared down at the body on the ground, pursed her lips and, instead of offering a, completely earned, thank you, circled around the car and climbed into the front passenger seat. He didn't wait for her door to close before slamming his foot down on the accelerator and taking off after the other two cars that had peeled away from the garage and were making their way to the main road.

As they passed the open doors of the garage, she noticed lumps on the ground. "The workers?"

"All dead," Rogers answered grimly.

She turned her attention to the cars ahead of them. From what she could tell, Natasha and Barnes were in the middle car, with Foster driving, which left Barton, Stark and Banner in the car at the front. Turning in her seat, she stared out the back window to see the four SUV's finally leaving the tarmac; Rumlow and his team were in pursuit.

Stasiya sat forward in her seat, taking Darcy's empty guns from her hands and trading them for an Ares Shrike automatic rifle. She reloaded Darcy's handguns and offered them once more for her to replace in the holsters at her ribs.

"It won't take long for them to catch up," Darcy said, staring at the black SUV's. "I should've asked for better cars."

"Would it have mattered?" Rogers wondered. "Whoever you called ratted you out."

"Maybe… Or maybe HYDRA caught wind that your team was leaving and tracked them here. If they killed the workers, that means they weren't in on it. And they brought the cars, so they were still following orders." Her lips pursed. "It doesn't matter. I'll deal with Jimmy later."

"Great, and when you're done laying into him, maybe you and I can talk about how reckless you just were," Rogers said, his chin jutted stubbornly.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Are you sure you don't want to save that conversation for later? Preferably when we're not being hunted by HYDRA..."

"Darcy… You walked out to face enemy fire," he reminded. "You didn't even discuss it with us. You weren't wearing a vest or protective gear _at all_. You just chose to—"

"You're right, I did. Because it's my choice. It's my life, not yours. I am _not_ one of your teammates, Captain. I'm an independent contract killer who just so happened to have a beef with HYDRA. You don't get to tell me when I'm not meeting your standard of work competency."

He ground his teeth. "It's not that you're not competent. It's that you walked out there, ready to die. What happens if they took the shot the second you walked out that door?"

"They wouldn't have."

"You don't know that!" he shouted.

"They wanted the rest of you to come out peacefully. They wouldn't have killed me that quickly. Rumlow said it himself; Stasiya and I would rot in some cell somewhere, forgotten or unknown. His target was you and your team. We were just a bonus."

"That doesn't make it any better. You could've been hurt. Worse, you brought Stasiya out there with you. She—"

Snapping, her body vibrating with her anger, she interrupted him. "Don't you _dare _talk to me about Stasiya's safety, as if you have _any _idea what she means to me or what I would do for her," she warned, her voice low with warning.

He paused, turning to look at her, and then shook his head. "Fine. But that doesn't change the fact that _you_ walked out there and faced them down without any cover or protection. What if they shot you before the canisters went off, or _after_, when they were shooting blindly?" His voice was deep, strained and stressed.

She stared at his profile a long moment. "Careful, Rogers, you're starting to sound like you care."

Jaw ticking, he turned his face forward, wondering, "So what if I am?"

Darcy's eyes narrowed. "Don't." Before he could argue with her, she cut him off. "In case you haven't noticed, this is war. There's no time to get attached, least of all to an assassin who was supposed to put you in the ground. We might be partners in taking HYDRA down, but when this ends, I walk away. There's no happily ever after here."

A hand at her shoulder caught her attention then and Darcy turned toward Stasiya, who was pointing at the bridge ahead. Darcy didn't need her to explain, catching on quickly enough. To Rogers, she said, "Take the off-ramp."

He frowned. "That's in the opposite direction of where you wanted to go. I saw the address on Natasha's arm."

"Exactly… Get ahead of the others, lead them onto the highway."

Steve looked into the rear-view mirror and then pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator, passing by Natasha, who nodded her chin at them, mouth ticked up at the corner. Darcy winked at her before they got far enough ahead that she was out of sight. They sped up and moved in past Barton's car, with Stark at the wheel, who frowned at them. Darcy was almost completely sure it was because he preferred being at the front of the class.

Rogers, having caught on, said, "They'll assume this was where we meant to go. If we can put them out of commission for a while, we can circle back around and get to the docks out of view." He looked at Stasiya through the mirror. "You want to cover our tracks… _Smart_."

Darcy nodded. "Plus, the highway gives us more space to move around."

"Where are we moving?"

"Wherever they aren't shooting." Darcy rolled down the window then and offered a stiff grin before climbing out, seated on the door.

As they hit the highway, Rumlow's SUV's spread out, the windows lowering. Darcy didn't wait for them to get comfortable; she just started firing. She sprayed one truck's front window with bullets, testing to see how thick the glass was and how her bullets stood up to them. For the most part, the glass dented and splittered some, but didn't break. Unless she wanted to spend too much of her attention there, shooting the driver was out. She focused instead on the open windows, aiming for anybody stupid enough to try and lean out of the SUV closest to them. Beside them, Natasha and Barnes were following suit, leaning out the windows to attack the second and third SUV. A fourth was too far at the back, covered by the others. Darcy would put money on it being Rumlow, waiting for them to exhaust their bullets and his men to do as much damage as possible.

Bullets hit the back end of the car, destroying the rear lights, scattering off the trunk and shattering the window. Stasiya ducked down low and reached inside the go-bag for a gun of her own before she leaned out the back passenger window and started shooting. The car lurched left and right under Steve's driving, weaving around other drivers, many of whom were getting freaked out by the gun fight and were either stopping completely or pulling off to the side to get out of the way.

An arrow hit the ground and exploded, sending a flare of fire up that an SUV just barely managed to get around. Barton was sitting in the window of his car, firing a mixture of regular and exploding arrows. Considering the damage it was doing, for an archaic weapon, it wasn't the worst.

Darcy angled her gun down and focused on shooting out the wheels of SUV #1. She smiled as one tire popped and it abruptly swerved, slamming into the SUV beside it before turning in the other direction, bouncing off the cement barrier and trying to get level again. She turned her focus to SUV #2 then and shot as close to the front passenger window as she could. Her mouth turned up in a triumphant grin as she hit someone, blood spraying over the door. She was aiming for another when she felt the pull at her leg and soon found herself yanked back into the car; narrowly missing the barrage of bullets that hit exactly where she'd been a moment before. Rogers was staring at her, his eyes a little wide.

"Do me a favor, don't get shot."

Her mouth tipped up. "No guarantees." Climbing back out the window, she raised her gun again and started shooting.

She was just getting comfortable when she caught a flash of the corner of her eye and turned. There was a car coming from the opposite direction, maneuvering in and out of other cars and coming up quick between Barton and Natasha's cars. Darcy turned, laying her rifle down flat on the roof before she reached inside her jacket and pulled out one of her handguns. She tracked the car and the man leaning out the window.

To Natasha and Barnes, she yelled, "Duck."

Natasha, as expected, heard and listened to the order.

Barnes, on the other hand, merely darted his narrowed eyes in her direction.

Darcy's finger squeezed the trigger without pause. Two bullets left the chamber, whizzing past the car and directly through the head of the man leaning out the car, but not before one grazed Barnes' cheek as it passed. The enemy car came to a screeching halt and the, now dead, HYDRA agent was shoved out the window, left on the ground to be run over.

Darcy, however, wasn't looking at the body currently being destroyed by the wheels rolling over it; instead her eyes were on Barnes, who was wiping away a dribble of blood from his cheek. Gritting her teeth at him, she cursed in Russian, before ducking back inside the car, passing her rifle back to Stasiya.

Stasiya looked at her, her lips pursed firmly, and gave a shake of her head.

Darcy sighed, turning to Steve, and stared at him one very long second before telling him, "Stop the car."

He glanced at her and then outside to the SUVs. "_What?_"

"Now. Stop the car."

He opened his mouth to argue, but paused at the expression on her face.

"Pull over," she ordered.

He gritted his teeth but pressed his foot against the brake and brought the car to an abrupt stop. "Do you know what you're doing?" he asked her.

Darcy quickly shoved her door open, pulled open the passenger door, and reached for the go-bag.

[He is an idiot. This is his fault!] Stasiya signed to her frantically. [Leave him. He deserves it!]

Darcy shook her head, grabbed out the leather kit at the bottom, and left the car.

Foster stopped her car not far ahead, idling in confusion, turned around to look back at them, her hands up in askance.

Darcy jogged toward the car, grimacing as she heard the SUVs come to a halt behind them.

Bullets started hammering into the asphalt behind her, but she kept running.

On the other side, Stark too had stopped and Barton had moved to stand on the roof of the car, firing off arrows for cover.

Natasha climbed out, gun raised. But it was Barnes, pushing his own door open, that had Darcy's attention. He took a step onto the pavement before his knees gave out on him and he pitched forward.

Darcy caught him, an arm around his waist, before he hit the ground. "_Idiot_," she said in Russian. "When I say duck, you duck." Lowering them both to the ground, she unzipped the kit with her teeth. Darcy pulled out a needle from inside, taking the cover off with her mouth and spitting it to the ground. She pushed at the collar of his leather top and aimed the needle at his neck, rolling her eyes when he tried to rear away from her. "You're going to get dizzy and you'll want to sleep. _Don't. _Stay awake, whatever it takes." She shoved the needle into his neck and pressed her thumb down on the plunger.

Barnes' chest heaved forward, his eyes wide and his mouth open in a silent shout. Behind her, she could hear the gun fire picking up. She chanced a look and found Stasiya, Natasha, Rogers, and Barton, who had traded his bow in for a gun, shooting it out with the remaining two SUVs and their passengers

Foster came around the car, crouched down low. "Is he… Will he be okay?" she asked, her eyes darting from Darcy to the fallen soldier in her lap, his eyes blinking wildly.

"He will be… Stupid, but alive." Darcy carefully laid Barnes' head on the ground and slid herself out from him. "Here. I have to go help them. I need you to talk to him, all right? Don't let him fall asleep."

Foster moved closer, her brows hiked. "What happens if he does?"

Darcy's lips pressed into a frown. "Coma, probably. Just keep him awake." Standing up, she looked down at Barnes, who was staring up at her, his brow still furrowed and his lips pursed.

"Still don't trust you," he managed through clenched teeth.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Just duck when I tell you to and we'll be fine." With that, she turned on her heel and started back toward the others.

Stasiya was quick to join her, handing over exactly what Darcy needed. The rocket launcher was an old favorite of hers and it fit into her hand with all the familiarity of a long-time lover. She raised it up, aimed, and fired, walking in between Steve and Natasha as she did. SUV #2 blew sky high, the surrounding agents racing away for cover. The smoking carcass of a truck landed half on top of SUV #3, fire licking from the inside out. Darcy waited as Stasiya loaded a second rocket and then fired again, making sure the third SUV was out of commission before she turned to the last SUV. With a third rocket ready, she found Rumlow, gun in hand, shouting orders at everyone around him. Darcy smiled as she aimed directly for him.

A hand on her shoulder drew her attention then and she turned to find Stasiya holding a hand out beseechingly. Releasing her finger from the trigger, Darcy handed her the rocket launcher. Stasiya and Rumlow had history of their own and if anybody deserved to blow his ass up, it was her.

Stasiya handed her back her rifle and took the rocket launcher, grinning savagely as she found Rumlow once more.

Darcy returned her attention to searching out the scattered agents, all taking cover behind various cars, some still filled with scared, confused civilians.

"We need to go," Rogers said.

As the last SUV was blown up by Stasiya, Darcy nodded. "Now we can go."

Rogers turned, nodding his chin toward the car, but paused suddenly. "Bucky… _Bucky!?" _

"He'll be fine," Darcy called after him as he raced across the pavement to his friend. "Groggy and maybe a little vomity, but alive." She waved toward the car as Stasiya turned to her and her friend quickly climbed into the back seat, storing away the rocket launcher and taking up another rifle. She leaned out the window and continued spraying the ground in front of the smoking, useless SUVs with bullets to keep the remaining agents from getting too close. It didn't look like anyone was coming out to play anymore, however, likely deciding to pull back and regroup.

Rogers was kneeling beside his best friend, reaching for his shoulder and squeezing.

Darcy hopped into the driver's seat of the car and pulled it forward. "Foster. Get in," she called.

Rogers turned, his brow furrowed as he stared back at her.

"Get Barnes into the car and keep him awake. Natasha can drive. Meet us at the dock," she told him.

He stared at her a long moment before nodding.

Foster, grabbing the cat carrier, hurriedly made her way over and climbed into the front passenger seat, hunched down low in the car.

Darcy hesitated for a moment as Rogers hooked his hands under Barnes' shoulders and dragged him to the backseat of the car, hauling him inside.

Natasha and Barton were still taking care of cover fire, backing up toward their respective cars as they went.

As Rogers moved to the passenger seat, he looked back. Darcy saluted him before pressing her foot down on the accelerator, taking up the front, weaving in and out of cars with ease.

It was a few minutes before Foster said anything, clearing her throat and lifting her shoulders as she straightened up in her seat. "So. You're… an assassin."

Darcy looked over at her, her smile lopsided. "What gave me away?"

Foster's eyes darted away and then returned to her. "How does someone _become _an assassin exactly?" she wondered.

"Exactly…?" Darcy turned her gaze back to the road. "They trust the wrong people… And then they get really good at killing them." Her hands flexed on the steering wheel as her foot pressed a little harder on the accelerator. Raising an eyebrow back at the woman beside her, she asked, "Was that specific enough?"

Foster stared back at her. "If I said no, would you elaborate?"

Darcy let out a snorting laugh. "I'd admire your courage."

"That's something, at least."

"Yeah," she agreed. "It's something."

Checking the rear-view mirror, she made sure Stasiya was okay before she let her eyes wander back to the car behind them.

Rogers and Natasha seemed to be discussing something while Barnes was struggling to stay upright. He was awake, at least; that was important. Her poisons were built to be fast-acting; in fact, she was pretty sure the only reason he survived long enough for her to get him the antidote was because he had a mock super serum in his blood. Otherwise, he would be just as dead as everybody else who had the unfortunate experience of being on the wrong end of any of her weapons. There was a reason she made sure everything was laced; she'd learned how resilient people could be in the past. This way, one hit and they were down; no muss, no fuss.

It was his own fault for not ducking when she told him to. She understood _why_; trust was hard to come by, she knew all too well. But this was no place to hesitate; she'd already saved them, _twice_, and she couldn't afford to have him doubting her around every corner. She told herself she saved him because letting him die would put the others off from working with her. And maybe that was part of it. But she also knew what it would have done to Rogers. Barnes was his best friend. She'd read up on that history. He couldn't afford to lose Barnes again, and she wouldn't be the one to take him from him. Besides, Barnes had a personal vendetta against HYDRA that Darcy could appreciate. He _should _be around to bring them down; it was only fair.

Her gaze darted back to Rogers for a moment, sitting tall and troubled in the front passenger seat. His own eyes raised, seeming, impossibly, to meet hers across the divide and through the mirror.

Darcy let out a heavy sigh. He better be worth all this trouble, she thought.

But, whether she acknowledged it or not, a part of her already knew. _He was_.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> _So sorry about the wait. I've had this chapter written for a while, I just kept putting the editing process off to work on other things. I hope you enjoyed it. There were a few parts in this that I really loved. Namely, the part where Darcy goes over what Stasiya should do if things go sideways. You get the feeling this is a conversation they've had before and Darcy is ready to die if it means Stasiya lives, while Stasiya obviously doesn't like the idea of leaving her behind. Their friendship is kind of my favorite thing. It's very deep and loving, or that's how I've tried to portray it. I'd love to hear what you liked or what stood out._

_In any case, thank you all so much for reading and commenting. Please do leave a review; they're my lifeblood!_

**- Lee | Fina **


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